Lord of Janissaries (63 page)

“Make way,” someone called outside. The door opened, and Mason stood aside to let Wanax Ganton enter. Lord Morrone followed him in.

“Welcome, Majesty,” Rick said.

“Thank you.”

Morrone gestured, and servants brought in wine and a silver service of the local equivalent of tea. It was bitter stuff, but it did have caffeine. If only the
Shalnuksis
would bring a few pounds of real coffee—

“Thank you,” Ganton told Morrone. His voice held dismissal, and Morrone left Rick and Ganton alone in the room.

“Your Companion was not overly pleased to leave us,” Rick said.

“Nor your soldiers.”

“Shall we sit?” Rick asked.

“Thank you.” Ganton took one of the chairs.

“Wine or tea?” Rick asked.

“Wine, but it is not right that you—”

“I have no fear for my dignity,” Rick said. He poured a goblet of wine and a large mug of tea and brought them to the table. The boy’s nervous, Rick thought.

“I think we have not been alone since I came of age,” Ganton said. He smiled thinly. “Nor do my advisors approve now.”

Why would they? The last thing any public official needs is to find out his sovereign is cutting deals the civil service doesn’t know about. “It is good to see you. You look well.”

“Thank you. As do you.” He looked nervously around.

“The room is safe, Majesty,” Rick said. “My soldiers personally removed the scribes Lord Ajacias had set to listen to us, and now they guard the passageway behind that picture.”

“I see. Is that not a treason?”

“Only if you wish to be.”

“But the law—”

Ganton seemed very serious, and Rick suppressed a chuckle. “Majesty, law and justice may be served when there has been a crime that harms someone. Here there has been no harm, and thus the matter of treason may be left to expediency and advantage.”

“Do you see advantage in accusing Ajacias?”

“Not at present,” Rick said. “He seems popular with his knights and villeins. Who would replace him?”

“My question exactly,” Ganton said. “Then that is settled.”

There was a long awkward silence.

“Lord Rick,” Ganton said. “The banquet last night was splendid. The guards, and the star warriors, all were magnificent—”

“But?” Rick prompted.

“But there were questions. Some asked—some asked if the starmen were truly loyal to me,” Ganton said with a rush. “And though I assure them they are, though I assure them you are loyal, though I believe this with all my heart, still will there be doubts.”

Rick frowned. Just what was eating the kid? “I will not remind you of the proofs we have already given,” Rick said. “You must know them all.”

“Aye,” Ganton said. “And yet still are there doubts! But—it came to me at the banquet. There is a way. If you could—if you could give me a star weapon. A small magic, not the large. The weapon the Lady Tylara used to kill Lord Parsons. And binoculars,” Ganton continued. “A different kind of magic. Together they would show—they would show that you do not fear to have your Wanax armed in your presence!”

“Um,” Rick said. Oh, boy! The trouble is, it’s not unreasonable. Not the way he looks at it, not the way his council will see it.

“I can pay,” Ganton said. “I would not expect you to take the personal equipment of one of your warriors, but perhaps one would sell for much gold?”

Hell’s bells, there’s half a dozen would sell every goddamn thing they’ve got if Mason and Elliot didn’t hold equipment checks every ten-day, Rick thought. And I’m not sure some of ’em haven’t sold gear already. We never did have a complete inventory of personal weapons and equipment.

“This is no small request,” Rick said.

“I know.”

“By God, I think you do know,” Rick said. “But let’s be certain. You ask that I place my life—that of any of my soldiers—in your hands. Not just in law, but in plain fact. Wait—I would not interrupt lightly. I know that I have already done this, and deliberately. I do not keep a large bodyguard, I travel with the court rather than stay in my stronghold of Dravan. But what I know may not be so plain to my soldiers. You ask that I show them that I trust you with their lives.”

“Aye. A great favor to ask, yet one I think necessary, if I am truly to be Wanax of Drantos.”

No question about that. Which means you’ve given me a decision to make. And you know that, too. Meanwhile, we’re making changes everywhere. Triphammers and water mills. Paper and ink. Deep plows. Fertilizer.

“It is not a decision lightly to be made,” Rick said. “I must take counsel.”

“But you will consider the matter?”

“I will—”

“Captain!” Mason’s voice came from beyond the door.

What the hell? “With your permission, Majesty?”

“I confess as much curiosity as you, my lord.”

“Come in, Mason.”

Art Mason came in quickly. Morrone followed before anyone could stop him. “Messengers, Cap’n,” Mason said in English. “From Murphy, up on the plateau. Peasant boys. They brought a parchment, but they’ve already told everybody in the castle. Horse archers from the high desert, Westmen. They attacked the wizard train. Killed Lafe Reznick and wounded Ski, chopped up a couple of villages, killed the local borderer baron. Everybody in the castle knows.”

* * *

Mason spoke too fast in the star language, and Ganton could catch only a few words. Outside he could hear people shouting in the courtyard, and someone ran through the corridors.

“Lord Rick—”

Lord Rick didn’t seem to hear. He took a parchment from Lord Mason and spread it out on the table. Ganton stood and moved closer to Rick. Neither Rick nor Mason objected, so he looked over Rick’s shoulder, and made a firm vow to spend more time at his English lessons when he went back to the University.
If
he went back, and that seemed more and more an impossible thought.

Westmen
. The word was a literal translation of the Tran term, and it leaped at him from the page. The Westmen had come to the southwest high plains. They’d come in strength, and had slain a bheroman and his knights, and—

Lord Rick looked up to see Ganton trying to read. For a moment he hesitated, then handed the letter to Mason. “Read it to us,” he ordered. “Translate as you go.”

“Uh, Cap’n—”

“Please.”

“Yes, sir.” Mason cleared his throat and began to read.

The news was worse than Ganton had imagined. Hundreds of Westmen, mounted archers, every bit as skilled as the dreaded Tamaerthan archers. There—there was nothing on Tran to match them! Nothing but star weapons. How many did the Westmen number? In the Tales of The Time there were stories of fierce monsters from the west, tens of thousands of demons mounted on horses that ate human flesh. Could they be Westmen?

—I regret to report that Private Lafferty Reznick was killed in action. I would put him up for the Legion of Merit if I could. He saved my ass, and more important he saved Baldy, this Priest of Vothan who lived with the Westmen for ten years and more, so I got good intelligence on the Westmen. If I get a chance before I have to send this off I’ll put down some of what he told me, but the most important is, there’s drought up there in their desert. They’re all coming down. Not so many right now, not more than a few hundred, but they’ll all come down sooner or later. God knows how many that is, but it’s a lot.

Corporal Jerzy Walinski has been severely wounded, and is not yet returned to duty, but is expected to recover. Four knights, three esquires, and nine men-at-arms with full armor, plus twenty-five farm boys of the local militia, are all that have come back from Baron Harkon’s force. I keep hoping there’ll be more, but I don’t think there will be. There’s no sign of the baron.

A star lord dead, another wounded, and of a bheroman’s forces not one of ten alive!

Ski can’t travel, and I don’t have enough troops to fight my way back to Castle Dravan. So I holed up here, and we’re digging in. I hope to God this gets through, Captain, because if it don’t, we’ve had it and no mistake. I can hold on for a while. This is no strategic hamlet, but I know a few tricks, and the villagers are willing to fight if somebody shows them how. Which is me, I guess, because there’s nobody else to do it, and I just hope that ammo holds out.

So I hope you can send me some help before it’s too late. I know you got troubles of your own, but you got to get here pretty quick if you want to see us alive. If you don’t make it, I’ll try to wreck the H&Ks before they get me.

Yours very respectfully,

Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval,

Onetime Private, U.S.A.

Mason finished reading and handed the parchment to Rick.

“We must send aid,” Ganton said. “And quickly.”

Lord Mason and Lord Rick were looking at each other. They didn’t seem to hear.

Other parchments lay on the table. Maps, and a sketch of one of the Westmen. Ganton also noted the bow, longer and thicker than the horse bows of Drantos or the Five Kingdoms, or even of the Romans.

“Your Lord Murphy seems a wise captain,” Ganton said. “I would honor him. With your permission. And a grant to the wives—” he could make himself say it now, although the idea had grated on him while Reznick was alive. “—to the wives of the Lord Reznick. Only upon your advice, my lord.”

He had not forgotten. One of his first acts upon coming of age was a grant of land to Protector Camithon—which earned him the cold scorn of Lady Tylara. Not that she objected to honors given Camithon, who was, after all, her general; but he was
her
general now that he was no longer Protector. Her advice and consent had not been asked, and that she was slow to forgive.

Lord Rick said nothing.

“Forgive us, Majesty,” Mason said. “We can—we can talk about that later.”

“Aye.” Ganton went to the side table. Before Morrone could interfere, he poured three goblets of wine and brought them to the center table. “My lords,” he said, and set the goblets down. “To the memory of Lord Reznick.”

They drank, and Rick looked up woodenly. “He came a long way to die.”

“Aye,” Ganton said. “Yet the Chooser will find a man, however far he travels. But he will have an honored place in Vothan’s Hall, I think.”

“Yeah.” Rick looked thoughtful. “Art, what can we send Murphy?”

“Not a hell of a lot. You know what’s mobilized.”

“You’ll have to go. He needs some quick reinforcements. Ammunition, and a mobile force.” Rick strode quickly to the door and opened it. “Jamiy!”

“Sir!”

“Alert Captain Padraic. The Mounted Archers will prepare to move out. Combat gear and rations.”

“Sir!” Rick’s orderly ran off down the corridor.

I wish I were obeyed as Lord Rick is, Ganton thought. And command as he does. He took no advice, no counsel. He needed none.

“Your pardon, Majesty,” Rick said, as if suddenly realizing that Ganton was in the room. “It is best we act quickly. Have I permission to alert your guards? We should return to Armagh, and quickly.”

“Armagh, my lord?” Ganton asked “Not Dravan?” Lord Rick’s Castle Dravan was certainly the proper place to organize the defense of the High Cumac. One of the castle’s functions was to guard the passes up the Littlescarp.

“Aye, sire,” Rick said. “But first there must be a Council of the Realm, and meetings with our allies of Tamaerthon and Rome. And I must see to the growing of
surinomaz
and other affairs at Armagh, which is as easy to reach from the University as your capital of Edron. Thus I suggest you send word to summon the council to Armagh.”

“It is hardly convenient,” Morrone said. “Nor comfortable—”

“Murphy’s not very comfortable out there facin’ those Westmen,” Mason muttered.

“Let us hear no more of comfort!” Ganton said. “My Lord Morrone, it is my will that the Council of Drantos be summoned to Armagh, to meet within the ten-day. See to it.”

Morrone was about to reply, but Ganton’s look silenced him. “Aye, Majesty. Immediately.”

Ganton wanted to leap and shout. He felt as he had the first time he had seen the sea, or bedded a woman. This was power, of the kind Lord Rick held, real power . . .

“So that is done,” Ganton said. “Another thing, Lord Rick. Harkon’s stronghold. Westrook. A strong place, I have heard. With Lord Harkon dead, someone must hold it. Perhaps Lord Murphy should go there.”

“That makes sense,” Mason said.

“We don’t know the roads,” Rick said. “Not enough information to make a decision.”

“Yeah, but it stands to reason a castle’s easier to hold than a village,” Mason said. “When we get back to Dravan, we can send up some of those new bombards, and gunpowder. Who’ll be in charge up there, now that the regular baron’s had it?”

They speak to me as a companion, Ganton thought. Not as a boy, not as a king, but as a fellow warrior! They listen, and consider, and ask—“I believe Bheroman Harkon has a son not yet of age.”

“Maybe Murph could take over that place,” Mason said. “He’s pretty sharp, Cap’n.”

“We’ll see,” Rick said. “Time enough when we get him some ammo and find out what the score is.” Someone had refilled his goblet. He drained it and set it down. “So now we have Westmen.”

“Yeah,” Mason said. “The Time’s coming. Weather’s gone crazy. Gotta raise madweed. Feuds in Tamaerthon. Clansmen eyeing the University’s wealth. Riots and migrations in the south. The Five Kingdoms raising new armies. God knows what for. So we get to deal with Westmen. Why not?”

Rick joined Mason in laughter. Mason fetched the wine jug and poured the last into their three glasses. Ganton had never seen the starmen act this way before. This is what it is to be a man, he thought. To do what must be done, and know that you will, and that your companions will not fail you.

And I am here with them, but can I do what I must? Can I do what they expect of me?

Again they raised their glasses. “Why the hell not?” Rick said, and again they laughed, and Ganton drank with them, while inside he was afraid.

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