“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.”