Kytun’s Kovnate island of Uttar Djombey lay at the extreme southwestern tip of Havilfar. Hamal extended over the whole northeastern corner of the continent. Yet word of the laws of Hamal penetrated even to Uttar Djombey.
Also, Kytun told me as we had fought and campaigned together, his island of Uttar Djombey, which lay off the west coast of Djanduin, as you know, was flanked on the north by an island of equal size. At the west ends the two islands were not above two ulms apart. They trended north and south as they extended eastward so that a large, sheltered sheet of water lay between them. This second island was the home of Kov Nath Jagdur. This was the island of Hyr Khor.
“And a worse nulsh for a neighbor no man could have!”
Judge, then, my mental state when I replied, “You will have a bad neighbor for not very much longer now, Kytun!”
So many of the troubles of the country could be laid directly at Kov Nath Jagdur’s door. Through his barbaric assassination of Obdjangs he had stripped the country of those who could guide it and keep it on a safe and level course. My first task, after securing the food supply, must be to strengthen the civil service and bolster the courage of the Obdjangs. Many had left the country, as Coper had told me. This gave me a measure of the Pallan of the Vollers. He had courage, to stay on. I thought of Sinkie, and I determined that nothing could harm them.
If I do not dwell on those last days of the troubles it is, I suppose, because good men fought one another, and died, and as the streaming opaz light of Zim and Genodras drenched the battling armies in color and warmth and light, so the thraxters and the stuxes and the djangirs sucked the life from them and stained the dust with blood.
Old Superb flew over my victorious army.
Truth to tell, the battle was not much of a fight, from a strategic point of view, although there were one or two tactical moves I rather liked, for as soon as the way of it was clearly seen Kov Nath Jagdur’s men began to desert him and to come over to our side. I had to use them, of course, but with all of human frailty in me I knew I would never fully trust them, which is a great pity. Being a bit of a maniac still, and seeing this battle as the outcome of a foolish whim made manifest in destiny, I had dived into the battle myself. The great and impossibly long sword I had taken from Kov Nath at our first encounter at the inn had given me ideas. Without Naghan the Gnat I had done the work myself, with the assistance of a young armorer, Wil of the Bellows, who was handy with a tempering hammer.
At least, memory of our days spent in the smithy around the forge as, stripped to the waist, our bodies running with sweat, our muscles bulging, drinking huge drafts of a much-watered weak wine, we worked the metal in cunning fashion, yes, at least, those memories recur with pleasure. I took off enough of the blade to bring what was left to the length of the blade of a Krozair longsword. We were scrupulously careful not to impair the temper, for the steel was of fine meld, springy, strong, capable of taking a sharp edge. I rebuilt the handle, and gave it that subtle two-handed Krozair grip. I bound it with silver wire we took from the shattered effects of a Gorgren supply column, looted and burned in the hills. The overly ornate and clumsy quillons were cut back by a fine craftsman, for they had been built snugly into the blade and handle, and I rewound the velvet before them, thinking it a flamboyant touch, but, possibly, a useful one, and I left the lugs before the velvet, for obvious reasons. So it was with a sword not properly a Krozair longsword, and yet with a weapon that had much of the superb quality of that magnificent brand, that I went into action.
As to the balance, Wil of the Bellows and I spent a long time getting the pommel weight just right. The blade balanced perfectly.
Wil had shaken his head, at the beginning, and said, “The great swords of the islands of Djanduin are notorious, Notor. You are cutting this one down-”
“Aye, young Wil. And for a reason.”
But he, like them all here, had never heard of the inner sea, the Eye of the World, and a Krozair of Zy meant nothing to them. Well, in various actions, they saw what a Krozair longsword might do in the hands of a Krozair brother skilled in these matters.
“By Zodjuin of the Rainbow, Dray!” yelled Kytun as we pressed the remnants of Kov Nath’s army back past the canal of fresh water, over the arcaded bridge, and into the Palazzo of the Four Winds.
“You fight almost as well as a normal man with four arms!”
It was an old jest.
Djanguraj is a sprawling, arcaded, windy city with much granite and brick and little marble. The merezo
— where the zorca and sleeth race — is one of the finer buildings. The palace contains many courtyards and inner ways, with the sacred court of the warrior gods placed centrally. To reach it we encircled the entire area and with flutduin flyers on patrol and the fliers available also helping to cover escape by air, we pressed on to the central sacred court.
Ortyg Coper had joined us, and he wore armor and carried thraxter, shield, and djangir, but he was not at home in a warrior’s garb, and I detailed sturdy Nath ti Jondaria, a Djang who understood that an order from me was to be obeyed until death without a thought or a question in that craggy skull of his, to look out for Coper and to guard him from his own excitement and unskilled desire to be a man among men.
Now we came up against wildly vicious Djangs armed with the great sword of the islands of Djanduin. They were Nath Jagdur’s personal bodyguard, men recruited from his own island of Hyr Khor. Against them, and with an unholy zest that infuriated all present, went the great swordsmen from Kytun’s island of Uttar Djombey. There was work to be done here for the future.
A merker alighted in a rush of fluttclepper wings and I had to draw back from the forefront of the battle at this vital moment of conquest to deal with problems of handling the city. There were orders to give, and decisions to make, all the pressing demands on a commander in battle that, in truth, were my proper role instead of bashing on with my longsword. I sent a scrabble of merkers into the air and racing on zorcas among the arcaded avenues of the city so as to make absolutely sure of every point within Djanguraj.
Coper had done his work well. Despite my proud boasts I could never have kept the city once I had taken it without his work. The fruits of those labors now bore sweet fruit. The people appeared everywhere, shouting for Notor Prescot, and great crowds surged up the avenues, waving flags of orange and gray, and there were many who waved small copies of Old Superb in their violent excitement. Coper was hauled out of the line by the scruff of his neck and Nath ti Jondaria, a bluff fellow with a moustache wider than his ears, grinned hugely as he dumped Ortyg Coper down. They are good friends in nature’s way, are Obdjang and Dwadjang, but the four-armed Djangs love to exhibit their strengths to the gerbil-faced Obdjangs. We are all human.
“Here, Notor, is the Pallan as you ordered!”
“Thank you, Nath. If you wish to carve yourself some fun in the battle-”
But he was off, running and waving his sword above his head, screeching with sheer joy at being alive.
“Now, Ortyg, we must plan the food supplies. That is the most important item in our plans. The people shout for us now, and for that I thank you with all my heart, but they will change their tune if we cannot feed them.”
Ortyg Coper squirmed inside his uncomfortable armor.
“You speak the truth, Dray. And, as Mother Diocaster is my witness, I was never cut out to be a warrior. Now, as to food, there are caches we have uncovered here and there-” And so we went at it, with maps and lists and sending off of merkers with orders to the detachments of the army. Quoffa carts were collected by the hundred, and calsanys with panniers ready prepared. Djanguraj would not starve if I could help it.