A Life for Kregen

Chapter Twelve

We flew back to Vondium. The odd little thought occurred to me that had I known it was Seg Segutorio struggling all naked with his chains, I would have unlimbered the Krozair longsword and gone in raging like a maniac.

And that was a demeaning thought, to be sure; but it adequately expresses my own confessed confusion in personal relationships.

“By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom, but that is good,” said Seg as he took the goblet from his lips. His mouth shone with fine Gremivoh, and I instantly refilled the goblet for him. We sat in my study, with the books and the maps, and Seg looked more like my old friend than a sodden wrung-out chained-up slave. The doctors had seen to him and patched him up, declaring he needed rest. His first words after that typical greeting had been: “And Thelda?” Whereat I had shaken my head. “There has been no news of her, none at all.”

“I went up to Evir,” said Seg, now, as we brought each other up to date with our doings since we had parted on the way to the Sacred Pool of Baptism in Aphrasoe. “I went into that damned pool with Delia and the emperor and the others, and then I was back home in Erthyrdrin.” He drank again, and shook his head. “Mightily discomposing, I can tell you.”

“I know.”

He looked up. “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?”

“So you made your way back to Vallia and went to Evir?”

“Yes. If I’d been sorcerously transported home, then Thelda would, too — or so I thought.”

“You were right.” I told him a little of the power of Vanti, the Guardian of the Pool, enough to allow him to understand that we had been caught up in a wizardly manifestation. He seemed satisfied with my explanation.

“She’d been there. They told me. An uncouth bunch, all right, those Evirese.”

“And?”

He moved his left hand emptily.

“I went to Falinur, then. After all, I am supposed to be their damned kov. But, for me, they can keep their kovnate and their mangy ways. I was taken up by flutsmen, and escaped, and then, being a trifle down, was easy prey for the aragorn. We’d been marching for days on end. I think — I’m not sure — I escaped a couple of times. But the lot I was with when you came up were the last.”

“You are home now, Seg.”

He gripped that empty hand into a fist. A Bowman of Loh, Seg Segutorio, for my money the best bowman on Kregen, and a kov, the Kov of Falinur. Yet he was the truest friend a man can have, and be thankful to all the Gods of Kregen he may call a friend. Now he looked down, shrunken, fearful of the terrors the future must bring.

“Home — yes, Dray, I made Vallia my home. And, now — my wife, my children, where are they?”

“You have returned. They will, too.”

“I believe that. I have to believe that. But the whole business has been a nightmare.”

He had heard the news, how the emperor’s life had been saved by his immersion in the Sacred Pool, of how all those who had taken him there had been sorcerously dispatched to their homes, of how the emperor had at last been slain in the final moments of the Fall of Vondium. He had listened stony-faced as the story of Kov Layco Jhansi’s treachery was told, and of how Zankov, the mysterious agitator, had killed the emperor. He heard about Queen Lushfymi of Lome, and expressed no great desire to meet her, despite that she worked hard and devotedly for Vallia. I knew that Seg loved his Thelda very deeply. For all her faults she was a good comrade and I often castigated myself for my treatment of her, for the supposedly funny remarks I made about her. She tried desperately hard to be a good friend to Delia, and Delia loved her, too, in her own way.

And now she was missing and might be anywhere, not only in Vallia, either. Anywhere at all on Kregen…

Seg fetched up a sigh. “Well, Thelda always means well,” he said, at which I shot him a hard look. “I just pray Erthyr the Bow has her in his keeping.”

“Amen to that, Seg, and Opaz and Zair, too.”

The doctors having told me that the Kov of Falinur needed a proper convalescence, which was not at all surprising, I made Seg see sense. In addition to seeking Thelda he wanted to know what had happened to his children, Dray and the twins. From my own bitter experiences of the past, and more recently in attempting to trace Dayra, I knew the wait might well be a long and agonizing one before any news was received. And, all this time, the work of preparing Vondium and the provinces loyal to us to resist the coming attack had to go on.

I said to Seg: “I am particularly pleased that the Grand Archbold of the Kroveres of Iztar is now with us.”

Seg showed a flicker of interest.

“The Order has admitted a number of new brothers lately. The work goes on. It seems to me, as a mere member, seemly for the Grand Archbold to welcome the new brothers.”

“Yes, my old dom,” said Seg, but he spoke heavily. “You are right. I value your words in this. You made me the Grand Archbold — for my sins, I suspect, as you so often say. But I will perform my duty.”

He brightened. “Anyway, it seems to me a perfectly proper function of the KRVI to search out and rescue ladies in distress.”

“Ah!” I said.

If I thought then that this work with the KRVI might help Seg, I feel the thought to be just and proper. If, as I suspect may have been the case, I also thought it would get him out of my hair, the thought was not only unjust and improper — it was despicable. Still, as they say, only Zair knows the cleanliness of a human heart.

Seg did say, with a flash of his old spirit, that, as for the new army, they were a fine, frilled, lavendered bunch of popinjays with their laces and decorations and brilliance of ornamentation. “I mind the days when you and I, Dray, marched out with a couple of rags to clothe us. Provided our weapons were fit for inspection by Erthanfydd the Meticulous, we didn’t care what we looked like.”

“Ah, but, my old dom,” I said, somewhat wickedly, to be sure: “That was before you met Thelda.”

Which was, to my damnation, a confounded stupid thing to say.

Seg took himself off to meet the brothers of the Order and discuss plans and, no doubt, take a stoup or two, and I went back to the paperwork. Blue was a color not in favor in Vallia save in the northeast, where it had been adopted in provincial badges and insignia as a kind of silent insult to the south, and in certain seacoast provinces where the ocean gave ample reason for its inclusion. These color-coded badges and banded sleeves and insignia of Vallia can be lumped together under the general name of schturvals, and by the schturval a man wore you could tell his allegiances. Nath Orcantor, known as Nath the Frolus, came to see me, highly indignant, determined that the fine spanking regiment of totrixmen he was raising should wear blue tunics over their armor, and red breeches. Enevon Ob-Eye and Nath were in the room with me at the time, going over sumptuary lists, and they looked on, more than a little astonished.

“Blue?” said Nath. “In the Vallian Army?”

“And why not, Kapt Nath?” said Nath Orcantor the Frolus. “I am from Ovvend, as you very well know, and our colors were granted in the long ago by the emperor then.”

“Oh,” said Enevon, and he smiled. “You mean sky-blue.”

“Done, Jiktar Orcantor,” I said. “Your totrixmen may wear sky-blue tunics and red breeches — but let the red be more a madder, or a maroon, rather than a crimson.”

Nath Orcantor the Frolus nodded, well pleased. He was not a whit put out that his regiment could not wear the imperial crimson, for that was an understood part of the hoary traditions of Vallia. The emperor said what was what, and crimson was the imperial color, and Nath the Frolus was raising a private regiment — for which, I add with great emphasis, I was most glad. We needed every man with us in this fight.

And there, in this piddling little frivolous-seeming incident, was another example of the way the imperium was eating away at my brain.

Nath Perrin the Oivon was raising a regiment of light-armed infantry who would act as skirmishers before the main line. When Jiktar Perrin wanted to clothe his regiment in green no one could see any objection. So, neither could I. After all, as I have reiterated, green is a fine color — for some people and in some areas. So Jiktar Nath the Oivon’s five hundred drilled in a leaf-green tunic, with minimum armor and armed with stuxes, spears and swords only. They did not carry shields and, for a space, I was willing to allow that.

The army grew.

A regulation had to be promulgated setting the largest size of epaulettes it was permissible to wear. The normal male Vallian’s outfit in civilian life is the wide-shouldered buff tunic, with breeches and tall black boots. The size of these wings gives a fine dramatic effect. But now, with the blaze of uniforms to play with, and bronze or steel wings to clamp over the shoulders, the Vallians seemed to have gone mad. I saw a Hikdar with silver epaulettes stretching out a full hand’s length beyond his shoulder. A sensible size had to be established, for these enormous shoulder-boards with their fantastic decorations could seriously impede the sword arm, or the spear-wielding sweep, if unchecked. Truth to tell, the wide metallic wings of the soldiers became a kind of trademark of the Vallian army. No one wanted to be without bronze, iron or steel epaulettes, and their use was demonstrated in battle where they saved many a slashing blow from taking off an arm. They complemented the leather, bronze-studded jerkins admirably.

When the fellows of my choice band ceremoniously presented me with a golden pair, I caved in, and wore them when in a certain uniform which they suited. But how I thought of the days when, clad only in the old scarlet breech-clout, I went swinging off to the fight!

The food situation had now eased enormously. This was due in no small measure to the wise precautions we had taken to return agriculture and husbandry to their usual high state of efficiency. The pallans, that is ministers or secretaries, appointed to the various posts of government, functioned well. I had told them what was needed and they had done their best to do the job. In truth, Vallia, or that part of it still owing allegiance to Vondium, had been ruled by decree. Now, in conversations with the Lord Farris and the other pallans and responsible officials, I announced that the Presidio would be reformed. Farris was delighted.

“That takes a load off my shoulders!”

“Mayhap, Farris. But you are still the imperial Crebent Justicar — when I am away, the responsibility is yours.”

“Do you anticipate-?”

Farris could not be told of my real fears. I said, “I am fretful. Everything runs here in Vondium. We remain in the dark. Perhaps I will tour around the frontiers.” And, at that, we all felt the pain. Those frontiers were tightly drawn around us now, well inside what had once been a united country. And, again, I could not tell him that some itch in me, an ache in my bones, told me that I would soon have news from Barty.

Two fresh regiments of archers had been formed and their Jiktars besought me to present the standards and to inspect their men. Sitting at my desk — that infernal desk with its never-ending avalanche of papers — I looked up most pleased when Seg came in, smiling.

“You look — look better, Seg.”

“Aye. I have been working. I know Thelda will be found.”

“Good.” I nodded vigorously. “These bowmen this morning, Seg. I have to inspect them. Will you…?”

“Delighted. I shall, of course, say nothing.”

“You may say nothing to them or their Jiktars. But to me, you will speak and I shall take heed of your words.”

“Well, then, let me go to Loh and recruit Bowmen of Loh.”

“No!”

He was surprised at my tone.

“But, Dray — why not? Always Vallia has paid gold for mercenaries. And the Bowmen of Loh are the best archers in the world. Why not?”

“Vallia must free herself by her own efforts.”

“If there is not gold enough in the treasury, why-”

“Aye!” I said, and my bitterness shocked Seg. “Aye! If the mercenaries cannot be paid honestly, they may take their pay in loot.”

“From your enemies. That has always been the way of it.”

“You saw the Phalanx when we met again? Each brumbyte, each Hakkodin, is a free man of Vallia. They take their silver stivers in pay, and they know if they loot Vallian property they will dance on air for it.”

He shook his head. “But it is enemy-”

“Look, Seg. All Vallia is like a gigantic Jikaida board. The drins are set out, the squares colored, the men in action. We fight and struggle for possession of drins and advantageous positions. Men die in the real world, instead of being swept up and replaced in the Jikaida box. This is not a game. And, remember, this enormous Jikaida board is Vallia, all of it, all Vallian. When you destroy a town full of foemen you destroy a Vallian town.”

We had played Jikaida the evening before and Seg had lost disastrously. This game, which is just about the most popular board game among most Kregans, can become a disease, taking up all a fellow’s time and thoughts, move and counter-move obsessing his every waking moment. It is, in most people’s estimation, far superior to Jikalla. And the image it brought to mind, of men marching and counter-marching from square to square, of the player concentrating on every move and trying to outguess his opponent, was an image of our present position in Vallia. We played a real life flesh and blood Jikaida on the giant board of Vallia, and our opponents would have no mercy if we played a false move. And, as you shall hear, I was to play another and altogether more personal game of flesh and blood Jikaida. But, then, that lay in my troubled future.

Seg started to say in his forthright way, “Well, all right, my old dom, I can see that plain enough-” when the door burst open and Jilian ran in, laughing, excited, her pale face flushed with happiness.

“Jak, Jak — the Lady Franci’s rark has had puppies and here is — oh!”

She saw Seg, big, handsome, yelling at me, worked up at my stupidity in not hiring a strong force of the finest bowmen in the world, and Jilian halted and the rark puppy wriggled and squirmed against her breast.

Very mildly, I said: “Jilian, you should meet Seg Segutorio, the Kov of Falinur, who is a blade comrade and the truest of friends. Seg, this is Jilian, who is just Jilian and who I am sure would love to shoot a round with you.”

Seg stared at her. “A bowgirl?”

“Among other accomplishments.”

I had not told Seg about Ros the Claw. His daughter Silda had been mixed up with the wild gang with whom Dayra ran, and I was not sure quite what his reactions would be. He had hauled his daughter out of it; I had not.

They made pappattu and exchanged Llahals and then Lahals.

Seg eyed me.

“So, and pardon me, Jilian, for finishing this subject, you will not, Dray, hire Bowmen of Loh?”

“No.”

“And if they are brought against us by our enemies?”

“Then the Archers of Vallia must outshoot them.”

“Impossible.”

“I know. But it will be done.”

Jilian watched us, stroking the puppy. She wore a laypom-colored tunic with silver edging, one of Delia’s, and the four pin holes made a square punctuation, empty of the brooches usually pinned there. The moment was broken as the puppy at last broke free and, a lightning-fast ball of ginger fur, led us a dance around the room before we caught him. Jilian gathered him up, crooning to him, stroking his fur. I smiled.

Seg saw the smile.

“These two regiments of these marvelous archers of yours?”

I glanced at the clepsydra.

“Yes. Time to go. You will excuse us, Jilian?”

She put her head on one side, her hair dark and low over that broad white forehead, and all her intent look returned.

“I think, Jak, that I shall raise a regiment of Jikai Vuvushis. We can fight for Vallia.”

Seg looked at her, and then at me, and I said: “That would be interesting, anyway. They have Battle Maidens up in the northeast who have declared for our foemen. It would be — both amusing and horrible — to see Jikai Vuvushis in line against one another.”

Jilian tossed her head. She laughed. “That will be no new thing.”

“Kregen,” I said, but to myself. “Kregen…”

As we went out I noticed Jilian’s sandals. Light and airy, they were thonged with golden straps to the knee. Those sandals were never Delia’s.

Jiktars Stormwill and Brentarch met us on the parade ground and the inspection went off faultlessly. Everyone knew the Kov of Falinur was a Bowman of Loh, and the ranks stiffened up wonderfully. Their shooting was good. It was not excellent; just good, and I knew Seg would be highly dissatisfied. But these were green regiments, and must learn. Their Jiktars would keep them at training, making sure the Hikdars ran their pastangs firmly and fairly, and the Deldars would run along the ranks bellowing and shouting as all Deldars bellow and shout.

The standards were presented, the trumpets blew, and a band from the Second Archers, a seasoned outfit, played stirring marches. By my express wish they played “The Bowmen of Loh.” Seg looked at me. Then he looked away. Well, in this life we all have to learn, and it is always the hard way, and painful.

The parade marched off to the strains of “Old Drak Himself,” which was by way of being a growing habit, and would soon be a tradition, when a flier circled across the rooftops, obviously searching. Seg had been given a Lohvian longbow by Log and his other comrades, for he felt naked without, and the great bow was out of its scabbard, strung, and an arrow nocked at a speed which would have dizzied the green archers marching off the parade ground.

I saw the schturval painted up on the side of the flier. Gray, red and green, with a black bar.

“Lower your bow, Seg. Those are the colors of Calimbrev. The flier is from Barty Vessler.”

Seg lowered the bow; but he only half unbent it and he kept the shaft ready in that casual, superbly competent way of a true Bowman of Loh, the master archers of Kregen. The men in the voller spotted us. What with Cleitar holding my own flag aloft, and with Ortyg the Tresh lifting the new flag of Vallia, and the blaze of scarlet and gold about, it was pretty clear where stood the Emperor of Vallia.

Targon the Tapster and Naghan ti Lodkwara, who had rejoined after his wound had half-healed, exchanged remarks. The others of my choice band, also, expressed opinions. I sat, looking forward and up, stony-faced. These staunch companions of the choice band and Seg had lived and worked with me in different times, and, it seemed, times centuries apart. Seg was not himself. If anyone questioned me, and no one did, I was prepared to be reasonable on the point. But Seg Segutorio meant a great deal, a very great deal, as you will know. As, to be sure, did every single one of the choice band. The flier landed and Hikdar Douron jumped down and ran across, saluting as he hauled up before me.

“Majister!”

“Spit it out, Hikdar Douron.”

“The strom begs to report,” he started off. I killed my smile. That, for a certainty, was not the way Barty had given his message.

“Yes?”

“The — person — he sought has left certain signs so that the Strom is confident he knows where she is. But the strom has been wounded and is mewed up in the fortress of the Stony Korf. He cannot leave our wounded.”

I said: “Why did you not all leave in the flier?”

“We have been joined by freedom fighters — we could not bring them all and the strom would not abandon them. Honor-”

Barty’s honor! Well, the lad was in the right of it.

I turned to speak and Seg said: “Stony Korf! I know that devil’s eyrie. It is in Falinur, that is supposed to be my kovnate, may it rot in the Ice Floes of Sicce.”

The decision was made without thinking about it.

Farris was told he was to take over. No attack was imminent, everyone was sure. I would take a pruned down group of the most ferocious desperadoes of my band. Seg would come. We were at last going to find my daughter Dayra. We were going to talk to Ros the Claw. And about time, too.