“By their colors, weapons and harness, it seems, there is more than one clan involved. From what I have been told I have identified the Clan of Rudimwy. The others are unknown to me and must come from north and east of the parts I know.”
“Six thousand vove-mounted cavalry, clansmen, renowned and feared.” He brisked up. “Life is going to be interesting.”
“As to time — yesterday. The army or armies that menace us from the southwest cannot be discounted. The lice that infest Vallia daily suck more blood. And Vondium’s army is not yet rebuilt, not ready.” A nasty thought occurred to me. “Anyway, it will be interesting to see who can train and provide their force first; the army in Vondium or you here.”
That got to him. As I say — nasty.
He drank again and one of his lieutenants — a raffish bunch, these, liberally bedecked with the ritualistic trappings of zorcamen — leaned across and passed the opinion that any zorcaman of Filbarrka, of the Blue Mountains, which was the blessed Delia’s province, could do what ten of those fat and callous-arsed citizens of Vondium could do, and in half the time, by Vox!
That made it my turn to hide my face in the wine cup.
Presently I asked about Korf Aighos of the Blue Mountain Boys.
Filbarrka roared out a belly-laugh.
“The old Korf! Why, he’s strung up so many damned flutsmen he could build a hedge with them. No mercenary ventures into the Blue Mountains these days.”
“Does he send men to assist you down here on the plain?”
“Aye, oh, aye. We strap everything down, then, and chain and padlock it all triple-tight.”
Great reivers, the Blue Mountain Boys. Only because they shared a common fealty to Delia prevented the Blue Mountain Boys and the Filbarrkians of the plains from being at each other’s throats as once they had to their mutual loss and benefit.
“And the Black Mountains? Kov Inch-?”
“Not a word. The Black Mountains remain as impregnable to the invaders as the Blue. But they are hard-pressed by that rast up north of them, Kov Layco Jhansi.”
“And east, too,” I said. “In Falinur.”
“And, over the river, the black and whites, may their eyeballs fall out.”
“Amen,” I said, companionably, and drank, and we chatted in this polite way a little longer. At last, judging the moment ripe, I proposed to Nazab Filbarrka that the Blue Mountain Boys be invited to contribute a component of the zorca force he would form. They might be infantry, archers, axemen, to fight in the intervals — anything, in my view, just so long as I could get their ferocious fighting ability put to use in the coming struggle.
“And if we can get word to the Black Mountain Men, them too.”
The threat posed by raids by the Racters over the border into the Black Mountains was serious; but the greater menace drew swiftly on us with those infernal Pypor-worshiping cramphs of clansmen and their voves from Segesthes. The Black Mountains must strip much of their own strength away, if we could reach them, to face Zankov. These are the hateful decisions emperors have to make every day before breakfast.
For a brief treacherous moment my thoughts dwelled on Drak and his fortunes in Faol among the Manhounds.
Filbarrka nodded in his enthusiastic fashion. “The great two-handed Sword of War of the Blue Mountains will serve excellently once I have broken up the main mass. I know they regained their pride in the weapon.” He cocked an eye at me, a knowing eye. “There was this business of you and the shorgortz, majister, as I recall.”
“Aye,” I said. “And the Sword of War was blunt.”
“Against the Racters and Jhansi, and now these vovemen, the great Swords of War will be sharp.”
“By Zim-Zair!” I said. “Yes!”
Filbarrka began to expatiate on the methods and equipment he would use and need. “I am prejudiced toward comfort in the shape of a four-legged animal, and am convinced that in spite of apparent lessons to the contrary, zorca cavalry can successfully fight those mounted on heavier animals.” He rubbed his fingers together, happily planning cunning tactics and stratagems. “Weapons will be a slender lance, twelve feet long, for a start, until we see how the men behave and the weapons serve. A number of lead-weighted and feathered throwing darts with broad barbed heads will be kept in a case at the saddle.”
“And a striking weapon, Nazab?”
“From a nimble zorca curveting about against an oaf astride a lumbering vove? Oh, a mace. A heavy, flanged head mace. Hit the fellow anywhere with that, and one of the flanges will bite in and do his business for him.”
“Very pretty. These weapons can be built for you in Vondium, together with such harness as you require.”
“Excellent, excellent!”
“And you will leave sufficient forces here to contain the confounded mercenaries.”
“I will. But it will be a task to choose who is to go and who to stay.”
“That’s why you are a Nazab.”
“And you, majister, an emperor.”
Just because of that it was possible for me to introduce the subject of shields. Some of Filbarrka’s people emitted loud snorting noises of derision at this; but I noticed others who, sitting forward intently, marked what was said.
“Shields?” said Filbarrka. He entwined his fingers and bounced up and down on his seat. “Well, now… Yes. Yes, I have seen shields in action and, if we are to have them, I would favor a long triangular convex-section shield.”
Well, argument ensued. In the end we agreed that the suggestions put forward by Filbarrka would be acted on to the best of our ability. The arsenals in Vondium had been instructed in the best way of manufacturing shields, and I guaranteed to supply the articles requested. As for armor, Filbarrka wanted a light quilted knee and elbow length coat with a steel bar sewn to the outside of the sleeve, steel right forearm guard and shoulder plates. These latter, being the trademark of the Vondium soldier, fitted in perfectly. In all probability what the arsenals produced would be high-quality iron; but we tended to call it steel, as one does. Steel is usually reserved for weapons. For helmets of the force, it was proposed that a small, round helmet rather like an acorn in shape, be fitted with a mail hood fastening up to the nasal. Mail was not easily come by in Vallia, as you know. The mail of the Eye of the World was effective but crudely heavy in comparison with the superb mesh of the Dawn Lands of Havilfar. The arsenals in Vondium could produce a mesh link that would serve. I had the sneaky suspicion that many a man of Filbarrka’s zorca force would ride into action without this mail hood.
“And, in the rear ranks,” said Filbarrka with anticipatory satisfaction, “we substitute bows for the lance and darts. The shields must be different, too. Smaller round parrying shields fastened to the lower arm. They should serve capitally.”
So it was settled. Settled, that was, in conference. The hard slog of bringing theory into practice must begin now. One supreme advantage Filbarrka did have. He could call on the services of superb zorcamen. That gave him a flying start.
Although pressed to stay and see some more fun — they had a raid against a caravan, of whose route they had been apprised, planned for the next day — I expressed my regrets. Vondium and the raising of a great city to renewed effort called. Satisfied that the mercenaries and aragorn in this part of Vallia were paying dearly for their plunder, I bid the zorcamen of the plains of the Blue Mountains Remberee, and flew fast back to the capital city.
The news that met me, conveyed by Enevon Ob-Eye with an appearance of studied calm, was that Barty Vessler the Strom of Calimbrev, wounded though he was, had stolen an airboat and flown from Vondium in the devil of a hurry and the devil of a state. My chief stylor contrived to appear matter-of-fact, but he was enraged, amused, and downright admiring about the stir.
“Hardly stole, Enevon,” said Seg, stretching his arms, as he kept doing to explore the pains in his mending back. “It was his to start with, you know.”