Lord of Janissaries (80 page)

“Maybe a little,” Les said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Except if you go much farther west I’d appreciate it if the ship isn’t seen. Our army’s out there somewhere. They just won a big battle with Westmen—those are nomads from the high plains above the big escarpment. The Westmen already think there was too much wizardry for it to have been a fair fight.”

“So if they see the ship, they might think it’s impossible to make an honorable peace, so they may as well die fighting?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“No problem,” Les said.

The lights below shrank rapidly, and now there were clouds below them. After a few moments the screen changed, zooming in on the plains below. They passed the Littlescarp, and the scene on the screen changed rapidly, as if the camera were searching the high plains. Then it stabilized on camp fires, and zoomed in again.

Tylara stirred. “That is the host of Drantos,” she said wonderingly. There was terror in her eyes. She started to speak, but Rick pulled her to him and kissed her.

She looked startled for a moment, then nodded understanding.

I know, my darling, Rick thought. There is our army, the most powerful force you’ve ever seen, down there below like toy soldiers, down there where it would be like child’s play to throw
skyfire
at them. But don’t say it, don’t even think it too loud—

“How does Yatar rule those with such power?” she asked softly. “Or—
does
Yatar rule the sky-folk?”

Rick shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said softly. Not even if you translate the question into modern theology. Is there a God? Is there any reason for ethics? Does the universe care one lick whether people are decent or beastly to one another?

“He rules your heart, my love,” Tylara whispered. “And that is enough for me.”

* * *

The screen brightened, then changed to a map of the eastern part of the settled region of Tran. At least
this
settled region, Rick told himself. He’d never learned just how far west this continent was inhabited, or whether the other continent was inhabited at all.

The map stretched from Rome to the Westscarp, and as Rick watched, a numbered grid superimposed itself. “If you wouldn’t mind,” Les said. “It would be well to get on with our cargo collection.”

That would be for the recorders. There’d be damned little cargo at the University, but Rick thought Les must have a way to deal with that. More interesting was how he carefully didn’t mention Gwen in the hearing of the ship . . .

* * *

The ship settled into the hills above the University. Les sent Rick and Tylara out, then joined them a few moments later. He was carrying his suitcase and the control box. The ship whined and rose into the dawning sky.

“Well, here we are,” Les said. “What’s down there?”

“My University,” Rick said. “Gwen is the Rector.”

Les whistled in exaggerated respect. “OH-ho. Well, we’d best get on with it. Looks like a long walk. Should have set the ship down closer.”

Tylara chuckled. “Captain,” she said, “one might almost doubt your love for the Lady Gwen. You complain of a few stadia we must walk. What of the tales of lovers who would swim boiling seas or walk ten thousand leagues to join their ladies?”

There was a pause long enough to worry Rick. Then Les laughed. “They may have had more difficult journeys,” he said. “But none of them ever had a longer one.”

36

The messenger from the Roman pickets brought word to Gwen Tremaine just as the True Sun rose. A skyship had been seen.

She put on a robe and covered her hair with a snood, and went to her office before she had tea.

“It was as you ordered, Lady,” the decurion said. “We watched the hills, and we saw it descending, not so bright as a star. I have never seen its like before.”

“Few have,” Gwen said.

“The cohort now searches those hills for any gifts the skyfolk may have left. If we find any, we will bring them to the University. Have you more orders, Lady?”

“No. Thank you, Decurion.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a bag of coins, and shook several into her hand. “Buy wine for your unit, and say they have done well.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

As the Roman left, Marva brought tea and biscuits.

“Join me,” Gwen said. She indicated a chair. Marva sat and poured the tea.

“It is good news, Lady Gwen?”

“I don’t know, Lady Marva. I truly don’t know.”

This is my life, Gwen thought. To be in this office, to govern this University. To teach these people, and watch as their lives improve. It is my life. She twisted her fingers together. This must endure. I’ve got to do something. Did it really land? And who?

Suddenly she stood, gulped her tea, and ran to her apartment on the floor below. What should I wear? There’s nothing here—

By mid-morning she’d turned her closets into chaos, and brought both Marva and herself to tears.

Get hold of yourself, girl! Suppose it
is
Les. Do you want him to see you like this? Send Marva for a stiff drink. Two, she deserves one for herself. And put on your regular working gown. It’s the best you have except for the blue one Larry gave you, and that’s too formal for daytime—

And the children! If it’s Les he’ll want to see his son.

And if it’s a
Shalnuksi
executioner?

It can’t be—“Lady Marva?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Have Nurse take the children to the Roman fortress. She’s to keep them there until I send for them. You go with them.”

“Is there—do you fear the sky-folk?” Marva asked. “But will they not be like—the others we have known?”

“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “And I’m afraid—”

“I will see to the children,” Marva said. “Then I will return.”

“No! Stay at the fortress—”

“My lady, not even the fortress will prevent us from
skyfire
. My husband told me that many times. But I can ask the commandant to send the children beyond the hills—”

“No, that’s silly,” Gwen said. “There will be no
skyfire
. All the same—do have Nurse take the children to the fortress.”

* * *

There was a knock at her office door.

“Come,” she called.

Larry Warner came in. “First time ever,” he said. “Nobody in your outer office. Why?”

“I sent—”

“Never mind. I know,” Warner said. “The Romans sent word. They’re on their way in now.”

“Who?”

“Cap’n Galloway, Lady Tylara, and a starman.”

“A star—
man
?”

“Yeah. All human. I described the
Shalnuksis
to the centurion, and he said it surely wasn’t one of them.”

“Larry, you shouldn’t have described—”

“Oh, shove the secrecy up sideways! It’s their planet, they have a right to know what’s threatening it!” He gripped his hair with both hands.

“You’ll be as bald as Telly Savalas if you go on doing that,” she said. She giggled despite herself.

“Good to see you laugh,” Warner said. “Now you keep your head and let me worry about mine.” He drew his binoculars from beneath his professorial gown. “They ought to be just about at the town gates,” he said. “Should be able to see ’em from your balcony there in a minute. Gwen—it’s probably Les.”

“I know.”

“What’ll you do?”

“That’s what I don’t know.” She eyed him warily. “Are you about to give me advice?”

“No, ma’am.” He winked at her. “You have to play this hand yourself, and I don’t need to say it’s important. Naw, all I was going to say is if you need somebody to watch your back, I’m available. I won’t draw on the Captain for you, but short of that—”

“Larry, that’s sweet of you.”

He laughed. “Now that’s just what a tough merc turned professor wants to be told,” he said. “Sweet, for God’s sake!”

* * *

She’d sent Larry away, and was alone on her balcony as the party rode in: a dozen Romans, Rick and Tylara, and a third who sat his horse like a sack of potatoes.

He can’t do everything.

He can blow your University right off the map.

They dismounted and entered the building. She went back into her office and stood near the desk. What can I say? What do I want to say? Why—

Too late for thought. There were sounds outside, then her door opened.

He came in alone. Over his arm he was carrying—

“Oh, no!”

She’d imagined this meeting for two years. She’d thought of being haughty. Imperious. Sexy and seductive, at least as much so as she could be. Tearful. Scornful. Cool, the University Rector.

She’d never imagined that she’d collapse in laughter. She threw back her head and roared, and had to lean against the desk for support.

He held his smile until she was finished. “Well, you
did
ask if I would buy you a grass skirt,” he said. “So I got you the best I could find.” Then his control gave way, and he began to laugh, and she joined him, and they kept each other howling. Whenever one would slow down, the other would point to the skirt and they began again, and . . .

And then he was close to her. She wasn’t sure what happened next. She didn’t think she’d moved toward him, but there she was, and his arms went round her, and their lips met.

“Les—”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He held her in an iron grip, but there were tears in his eyes, and suddenly everything was the way she’d dreamed it might be, back when she had good dreams.

The grass skirt fell to the floor.

* * *

Rick’s apartment was on the top floor of the University guest house, and the window looked out across the quadrangle to the town beyond.

In the traditional manner of Roman soldiers, the University cohorts spent much of their time building. The Roman camp was surrounded by coal-fired baths. A line of stone buildings was springing up next to it, while on the campus itself the Roman engineers had laid chalk lines to mark a new quadrangle.

The University was growing, but the sight could not cheer Rick. The axe would fall, and all too soon.

Meanwhile, he had a kingdom to administer. He hefted a stack of reports the Roman clerks had brought in. They had arrived by the Express Post that morning.

The most interesting was Art Mason’s report.

“The Westmen are moving north as agreed. It won’t be long before they’re out of our territory altogether, and the only question will be whether they take on Margilos or the Five Kingdoms.”

Tylara read over Rick’s shoulder. She laughed haughtily. “If the Westmen attack Margilos, there will be fewer Westmen to reach the Five Kingdoms. They are as mad as the Westmen, those warriors of Margilos. And I think the Westmen know this.”

“Good enough,” Rick said. “So they’ll go past Margilos and on into the Five. That ought to keep the High Rexja busy for long enough to get this Roman alliance firmed up. Once Ganton marries Octavia—”

“Um-hummm,” Tylara said. “Did you arrange for the Romans to hail our Wanax as Imperator?”

“No, ma’am, he got that one on his own.”

“You surprise me. True, I had not thought to arrange it, but when I heard, I believed you had. Perhaps Yatar does watch over us more thoroughly than we know.”

Rick turned back to Mason’s letter and read aloud. “Wanax Ganton proposes Ben Murphy as bheroman at Westrook. The Bheroman Harkon left a six-year-old kid, but Honeypie has just about adopted the kid, and she and Murph will be married as soon as he gets your consent, which I’d advise you to give. I think Murph can do a good job of holding the plains here. He likes it.”

Murphy’s first home, Rick thought. A long way from Belfast . . .

“A lot of the smallholders were killed by Westmen,” the letter continued. “Some of the landless Tamaerthan troops like the weather up here, and they’ve petitioned to take over the ownerless farms. Murphy wants to let them do it, and it looks like a good deal to me, but of course it’s part of Lady Tylara’s county. If she approves, we can get started fast.” Rick looked up at Tylara. “Well?”

“I consent,” she said. “Should I not?”

“No. It’s a good plan. Here’s to Bheroman Murphy.” He read the rest of Mason’s report. “There is no longer a threat from the Westmen. Wanax Ganton has decided that his bheromen are able to escort them with Roman help, so we are returning to Dravan. The Tamaerthans who aren’t staying up here want to get home, so Caradoc has taken them on ahead. You can use the semaphore to Dravan if you have other orders for them.”