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.
Chapter Thirteen
To be free of the cares of empire! Once more to ride the winds and with a cutthroat band of loyal companions to hurtle across the face of Kregen, speeding beneath the Moons, and sword in hand once more to plunge into headlong adventure. Ah! This was the old Dray Prescot, a fellow with whom I had barely been on nodding acquaintance lately.
We had packed Barty’s flier with men and supplies and, Hikdar Douron having assured us we were adequate for the job ahead, I had not pressed Farris to release any more vollers from his small and hard-pressed fleet. Our sailing skyships would be, by days, too slow. Now in fading light, Douron pointed ahead, where a jagged line of peaks rose against the star-glitter. This was an uncomfortable little corner of Seg’s kovnate, a sour, dull place inhabited by sour, dull people. They insisted on keeping slaves and all Seg’s attempts had failed to convince them otherwise. I knew that toward the end, before the Time of Troubles, he had been at his wits’ end, unwilling to use the force at his disposal against the people of his new kovnate, and yet, sharing my views, desperate to end the blasphemy against human nature that slavery was, in very truth, in our eyes.