“It is gone now, and the Lord Farris is shorter still of air for surveillance.”
No message had been left. I could only assume that Barty could contain himself no longer and had gone to carry on the overdue talk with Dayra interrupted by the storm and their escape from us. I did not know how long it had been since he had last seen her. I’d wager a king’s treasury against a copper ob that she was never the girl he remembered.
Nothing could be done about that situation. Every effort must be bent to building up the warlike capacity of the city. Seg said: “I have scoured around, Dray, in the taverns and dopa dens and stewpots. I’ve dug up three hundred men who claim to have been Bowmen of Loh. Some may never have been within a hundred dwaburs of Loh; but I have them sweating over their drills now, under command of Treg Tregutorio, a right old devil but a man with a bow, by Vox. You will find they will stand come the day.”
“Good,” I said, cheered in a way Seg could not hope to understand. “But, come the day, I shall need you to command the vanguard, as ever. I rely on you, you know.”
“That is where Treg will want his men if I know him.”
Despite his shortages, Farris kept up observations of the country and the day did come, sooner than we expected. Farris burst into my room without ceremony, looking wild-eyed, a most unusual state for him to be in.
“Majister! That cramph Kov Colun! He is found — aye, and an army with him. A great army of mercenaries from Pandahem and Hamal, marching from the south on Vondium. There is little time left.”
So, with what we had, we marched.
We marched to the south.
The host of clansmen mounted on their terrible and terrifying voves pressed in on us from the north. If we were to be the nut in the nutcracker, then we would make sure we broke off one of the jaws, broke and splintered, and sent it shattered back before we turned — with what we had — to strike at the other.
In those dark days for Vondium and for Vallia there were few, and fewer with every day that passed, who believed any more that we would win through. But, still, we would fight. We would fight on, although doomed, fight on without surrendering. For that was the way of it, in those days. Surrender would bring our utter annihilation. Everyone knew that from bitter example. So we would fight on and if we were doomed, why, then, we would go down before Fate and put as brave a set of faces on it as we could muster.
That was the way of the new Vallians.
Chapter Nineteen
I had been wrong about Delphond.
Delphond, the Garden of Vallia, a sweet, languorous, easy-going place where the fruit hung heavy on the tree and the fat kine filled lush pasturelands, where men and women laughed easily and ate well and quaffed good Delphondian ale, where life flowed in smooth mellow rhythms and it was good to be alive and rest awhile — Delphond, Delphond — the sword and fire and destruction came to Delphond. And the good people arose in their wrath. Calling on the name of Delia of Delphond, they rose and smote the invaders.
Always I had considered the Delphondi would be too lazy, too good-natured, too easy-going, to resist, even though I had seen evidence of a new awareness and a growing suspicion during that time I had sought news of the mystery of the Black Feathers of the Great Chyyan.[1]
The distance from Vondium to Delphond is not great. That was the paramount reason why the invasion army under command of Kov Colun Mogper of Mursham had chosen to land there, on the south coast. He might have sailed his fleet up the wide mouth of the Great River; but then he would have faced crippling odds as all the small craft we could muster would have assailed him. He was confident, I’ll give the cramph that. Straight across Delphond he marched, in a straight line, through the orchards and the cornfields, over the pastureland, and in his wake he left a broad swathe of destruction. Also, he left many a man of his regiments hacked to pieces in a ditch where the enraged Delphondi had thrown him.
We marched southwest to get around that curve of the Great River, crossing the imperial province of Vond. We cut well south of the route of that earlier quick and improvised march against the mock army of Fat Lango. The comparative failure of that ruse had not deterred Kov Colun from setting forth on the balance of the ploy. If we did not stop him, he would be in Vondium, and Yantong would have won another round.
Although I had long ago come to the conclusion that bricks and mortar were not worth human lives, there were other considerations in the decision to defend Vondium. The arsenals being there constituted one obvious reason. But for that, by Zair, I’d have let Kov Colun and Zankov fight it out between them.
“By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom,” exclaimed Seg, reining up and shading his eyes. We looked up into the high blue of a Kregen day. “That looks a trifle likely.”
Up there, swirling away from the advance guard of our little army, black dots pirouetted across the blue. They appeared to frolic between puffball clouds; but we knew they were not of the frolicsome kind, being aerial cavalry of the army we challenged.
“Mirvols,” I said. “So Colun has brought aerial forces with him.”
“We’ve seen them off before, Dray! D’you mind the times in the Hostile Territories — and that scheming woman, Queen Lilah of Hiclantung?”
“Aye, I mind me, Seg. But we have no air to speak of.”
“Your Djangs from Valka-”
“If they get here in time.”
“Erthyr the Bow will see to it that they do.”
Ahead of us stretched the open park-like landscape of Delphond. We had marched fast and light, having information from our spies that Colun tarried for his rearguard to come up. If all went as we planned, we would harass the invaders as far as we were able until we were all formed. That was a grim note — all. There were pitifully few of us left. And the new regiments were not ready. Karidge’s regiment of zorcamen — the First — went cantering past. Because Nath Karidge had caught a small punitive excursion mounted by Farris against a fortress of the aragorn over our borders, he had missed that fight at Sicce’s Gates. At the time he had raved. Now he said that Opaz had saved him and the best zorca regiment in the army for greater things — for victory. I had agreed with him. His men were raging to get at the invaders and a deal of the gloom and doom so rampant elsewhere was missing in their ranks. Karidge’s wife had recently had twins, and Seg made some remark as to his good fortune, and mentioned Thelda.
Again and again I had struggled with myself, quite unable to decide the best course. In all mercy I ought to tell Seg that Thelda was still alive. That would lead to questions. I could simply say that I had had a report that she had been seen, alive and well. I knew what that would mean. Instantly, Seg would be off hot foot on the trail. And I knew he dared not go with that wound in his back. Now the wound was almost healed, and the doctors of Vondium had expressed their amazement at his recuperative powers. Now, if I spun him some cock and bull story, he would have no reason not to go off. The plight of Vondium ought not to move him. It wouldn’t me, if it had been Delia I was chasing. So… Up until now I could with justice claim I had not told him Thelda was alive so as to save him from killing himself by searching for her with that damned great wound. Now that he was well again — could I in conscience keep the news from him? The half of the news? Sink me! I couldn’t tell him about Lol Polisto. And yet, for him to discover the story in some hole-in-the-corner way would be even more frightful. By the disgusting diseased tripes of Makki-Grodno!
And then a trumpet pealed sweet and silver, hurling notes through the air and sending birds scurrying from the nearby wood as though the notes took wing. A zorca rider burst up over the ridge and bore on toward us, riding hard and low in the saddle.