“No, Delia, no. My home is here, on Kregen. With you.”
Her smile transformed her face, making what was beauty into a radiance so all-encompassing the loveliness dizzied me. I closed my eyes, and opened them, and Delia still smiled on me.
“And this weird crippled world is where you go when you leave me?”
“I am sent there. Against my will. Because I defy those who wield the power. I shall not defy them so stupidly again.” We talked then, quick questions and answers, and I told her much. She was fascinated by the idea of Earth, and quite beyond any childish feelings of guilt that the pure religions of Opaz would frown on her or condemn her conduct.
We talked through many burs of the night.
And, when at last we slept, we still had not talked enough to satisfy her curiosity or relieve my mind of those years of guilty secrecy. But, when all was said and done, what difference would this make in our relationship? We were a twinned whole, a twosome that transcended one-ness. She had always been aware that I left her from time to time, without explanation, and always returned. She always waited. No moist-mouthed seducer from Quergey the Murgey could sway her love away from me, as he had so often done with lesser women from their husbands. We remained still Dray and Delia. We were. But I felt a deal easier in my mind now that Delia knew. And, when she did know, I saw all my previous fears as the childish phantasms they were. To be brutally honest, the truth had come out and the whole episode smacked of anti-climax.
And, to be equally truthful, that was exactly how it should be.
The next day I mounted up and rode out at the head of my little band, aiming to get on with the hard business of rebuilding an empire, not for the glory of empire but because it was a task that had been set to my hand by the people of Vallia.
Chapter Seven
Barty reined up and swung his zorca about to fall in with me.
“They’re three ulms away, off beyond that ridge of trees.”
He pointed ahead. The trees lined the horizon, barring off forward vision. The clouded sky towered above and, I fancied, when the wind dropped there would be rain. The turf compacted firmly beneath the hooves of the zorcas and nikvoves, the breeze rustled bushes and small trees among the grassland, and we were approaching Dogansmot, which is a lively enough little town in the vadvarate of Thadelm in the southwest of Vallia.
I said to Volodu the Lungs: “Do not lift your trumpet, Volodu. Word of mouth, and quietly. Dismount.”
Approaching us walked three zorcas, one of whom had a broken horn, carrying two dead men and two wounded. I looked at them and felt the anger, and repressed it.
“Close, Barty. You did well.”
He nodded and was enough of a veteran now to say, merely: “Our patrol was ambushed. They left two dead men, three zorcas. The Pandaheem know we are about.”
“Surely.” At our backs the long columns were dismounting. “Get the men away into what cover they can find. Spread out. Strict silence.” I swung to Targon the Tapster and Naghan ti Lodkwara who rode with Korero the Shield. “Come, and quietly as you value your hides.”
The four of us cantered out across the turf, making very little sound. The zorca hooves beat softly. And I would have no truck with junk like jingling accoutrements and flying tassels and nonsense of that sort. Our harness and gear made no sound as we cantered out to scout the enemy.
“Gallop,” I said, in a harsh penetrating sort of way, and with a swift look back, which assured me that the troops were finding cover and making themselves and their mounts invisible, clapped in my heels and took off. The others followed.
We reached the line of trees without strain.
The situation was as I had expected.
The enemy general had sent forward a patrol to the line of trees and their distance beyond gave us time to reach the trees first. But only just.
We saw the green and blue uniforms, the brilliance of bronze and silver, as the zorcas broke up the ridge from the far side. There were ten of them, riding hard, and their plumes nodded very bravely.
“Let them get in among the trees,” I said, most mildly. “Ten. Well, whoever gets himself a third man will be right merry and quick.” From which, you will perceive, I was in a grim humor that needed a little skull-bashing to relieve the tensions. Vondium had burned and Vallia had been ripped into shreds. Somehow we had to start rebuilding, and here and now was a tiny fracas along the way… The trees rose tall and heavily foliaged, their roots no doubt drinking deeply of a subterranean stream. The shadows fell bafflingly, and we waited in silence, completely confident. The ten cavalrymen spread out a trifle as they reached the crest of the ridge and plunged boldly in among the trees, and this made me think they had once been good soldiers but were now by reason of easy marching and the absence of fighting grown somewhat careless. That carelessness cost them their lives. After the first surprise and sudden onset they fought well. But four of them were down on the instant before they had drawn, and the next four, wheeling their mounts and setting up an outcry, barely had time to clear scabbard. The remaining two, those on the wings, fought their zorcas under control and attempted flight.
I reined in. The brand smoked red in my fist. Targon, Naghan and Korero whooped up their mounts and went flying in and out among the trees, like bats. They caught the last two Pandaheem before they quitted the tree-lined crest, and I did not wish to see who claimed three.
My desperadoes trotted back, looking mightily pleased with themselves. I was already dismounted, the reins slung over a handy branch, examining the dead men and their equipment. Their zorcas stood by the corpses, which made me think we dealt here with an army of professionals, or hardened mercenary veterans. By this I mean men accustomed to working with zorcas for most of their lives, and not levies scraped up for a quick and cheaply promised conquest. Their carelessness had been a self-confident carelessness, when all was said and done.
“Summon up Karidge’s regiment,” I told my men, without looking up. One of them would ride with my orders. “Silently. The rest to move up in order to the ridge.”
Rising, with what I wanted to know already tucked away, I walked to the far edge of the ridge. Fallen leaves kicked underfoot. The shadows dropped down, and then a chink in the overspreading leaves rained a color-fall of ruby and emerald. The army advancing down there were still two ulms away, that is to say around three thousand yards, and I could make out with the aid of my Kregen spyglass the way they came on.
Well. An army is an army. And there are all kinds, and, as I must have remarked, they are all the same and all different.
This ridge with its awkward traverse would make them trend away, following the easier ride to the north, and already the outriders were swinging. As my scouts had reported, there were no banners displayed. The cavalry screened the infantry. The artillery was mostly small-wheeled varters, drawn by hirvels and quoffas, with just the two big catapults. These were drawn by teams of twenty-four krahniks apiece. The infantry were predominantly sword and shield men. This made a frown of black fury and exasperation cross my face, whereat Targon said: “Have you the gut ache, then, majister?”
“Sword and shield men,” I said, grinding the words out. “From Pandahem.”
“They learn,” said Korero in his aloof way. A Kildoi, a man of that race of diffs from far Balintol that are little known beside so many other of the brilliant diffs of Kregen, Korero the Shield moved always at my back. His lithe limber physique was that of the master in martial arts of all kinds, with a command of the Disciplines. He had four arms and a tail equipped with a hand, and his handsome face with its golden beard overtopped me by four clear inches. Withdrawn, Korero, yet ready with a quip that would dart to the heart of the situation. Now, with a nod of his head, he finished: “There will be Hamalese drill instructors with that little lot. And a rascally gang of masichieri, too, if I am not mistaken.”