So we progressed northward through the island, our ultimate goal Huringa, the capital city itself. The locals would give up news of troop movements, and we avoided confrontations, garnering our strength. I was content to leave all this to Nath the Retributor. Soon enough our motley collection of rebels would be found by a force of Queen Fahia’s soldiers, and then we would have to see just what the rebellion was made of.
During this time I talked a great deal with Lildra, and learned much of her story, for there was pitifully little to tell. She had been born in the kind of genteel captivity Fahia reserved for her sister, Princess Lilah. Lildra’s education had been simple and direct, and there was much of which she was completely unaware. I found her one day in a little clearing slashing Charldo’s sword about.
She looked at me commandingly.
“You are a great Jikai, I think, a hyr-paktun, although you do not wear the zhantilhead at your throat. I have seen how you handle a thraxter and will have you teach me the art.”
“If you desire it—”
“I command it!” She had taken to the adulation heaped on her by the lords and ladies, hostile to Fahia, who now more and more thronged our rebel camp. I did not think this would spoil her. I could see a directness and a brightness of spirit in her — very becoming a young lady who would be queen.
All the same, she joyed in letting me know she was a princess. “I command you to teach me the arts of sword-play, Jak!”
Gravely, I said, “I can’t teach you. But it is only you and the spirit that can learn. Also, the arts of killing with the sword are not play.”
She didn’t like that. It clashed with her romantic notions. She hadn’t liked it when I’d remarked, offhandedly, about our leap from the battlements of the Castle of Afferatu, that that was what castle moats were for, for heroes and heroines to jump into. And yet, and yet, with her fair beauty and her lissom figure, her high color and brave spirit, there was a bright aura of romance clinging about Princess Lildra, oh, yes, very much so...
“Well, Jak, the Onker, let us begin and you—”
A loud, raucous and mocking squawk cut rudely across Lildra’s words. She took no notice and went on speaking. I knew she could not hear that croaking voice of doom. I looked up. Perched on a tree branch sat a resplendent bird, all gold and scarlet plumage, his head on one side, his beady eye fastened on me. Lildra could not hear or see him, for he was the Gdoinye, the messenger and spy of the Star Lords. I hadn’t seen him for a time. He kept observation on me for the Everoinye, and we would insult each other as a matter of protocol — what the devil did he want now?
I ignored him and listened to Lildra, and presently the Gdoinye flew away. The Star Lords kept a watchful eye out on those who merited their attention. So Lildra and I fell to with our swords, and she was a quick learner and I felt confident she would develop — if she wished — into a fine sworder of the cunning and intelligent kind.
News came down fitfully of outside events. Hamal continued on her headstrong way of imperial conquest. The queen’s son was grown into a tempestuous youth, determined to have his own way, and it was whispered that King Rogan had no part of his parentage. The Shanks had raided again, down in the southeast, and soldiers had been sent. This accounted for the paucity of opposition we had so far encountered. I did not say this to Lildra. The idea was bruited abroad that the lack of opposition came from men’s reluctance to fight against Lildra for Fahia.
Orlan had not told Nath the Retributor who I truly was, and although a quiet, reserved man, he rubbed along well enough with me. For, and I own it with a half-smile, I occupied a special place of privilege, being the man who had rescued the princess. Nath the Retributor was in constant communication with Orlan. We even kept abreast of the fortunes of the four color corners in the Jikhorkdun. I listened avidly as the fortunes of the ruby drang rose and fell. We still had not caught the emerald neemu...
Then a shattering surprise burst about my head.
I just did not believe it. It couldn’t be true. Why?
News came down secretly that the Princess Majestrix of Vallia intended to join our rebellion.
By this time I no longer automatically thought of Delia when the Princess Majestrix was mentioned. Delia was now the Empress of Vallia. Lela was the Princess Majestrix — and I hadn’t seen her for so many years the pain gnawed mercilessly at me. I’d been flung cruelly back to Earth, and Lela had been sent adventuring for the Sisters of the Rose. That organization of women was secret to men, as it must be, and it was fruitless for any man to seek to uncover its mysteries. What the SoR did in secrecy was done for the good of Vallia and they did much good work for the poor and sick, men and women both. Useless to try to probe, and ultimately futile. As soon try to uncover the mysteries of the Krozairs of Zy. And so my daughter Lela was coming to join the rebellion!
She had been some time in Hyrklana, so Nath the Retributor told me over the campfire one evening with the fat stars pulsing that shimmering Kregan nighttime glow over the camp. Sentries patrolled. We had eaten and drunk, and now we rested for the morrow’s labors.
“She has been working in secret against those cramphs of Hamal. One day, Jak, we will have to stamp our heel upon the Hamalese — but it will be a stern task, for they are strong.”
“The strong will fall to the shrewd blow.”
“You quote San Blarnoi at me. Very well. It is true.”
He knew nothing of Spikatur Hunting Sword.
“The Princess Majestrix brings sisterly greetings to our own Princess Lildra. Vallia fights gallantly against Hamal.” Nath took a sip of wine, sparingly, as was his custom. “An alliance will be offered, I am sure. When Princess Lildra is queen then we will join with Vallia against Hamal.”
“That,” I said, “is a development devoutly to be wished.” And then somberly I added, “And will it be worth all the dead?”
“Of course, Jak! Of course.”
Sometimes I wish I did not have this all-encompassing vision. It knocks the stuffing out of you when you least want that. We had to knock seven kinds of brick dust out of Hamal, and there was no getting over that this damned side of the Ice Floes of Sicce, no, by Vox!
Nath leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There is more, which is not general circulation. I am given to understand that the Princess Majestrix’s father will also honor us.”
I kept my wine jug steady. The red wine, a medium Mahemj, did not ripple. I lifted the jug and drank and wiped my lips with a mental,
By Mother Zinzu the Blessed! I needed that!
I looked hard at Nath the Retributor with the look that says you do not believe what you have just heard with your own ears.
“It is true. By Harg! Unlikely, but true. I had it from Orlan Mahmud’s messenger personally and only tell you because you are very dear to the princess.”
“Oh?” I said, intrigued by this idea. “I wouldn’t have thought that.”
The Retributor laughed and leaned back and drank, and there was no getting any more out of him that night.
I would like to know how it was that the Emperor of Vallia was going to join the camp he was already in, and how it was he did not know that interesting fact. Yes, by Krun!
When Orlan had received word that Lildra had been rescued by a hulking, scowling, rascally fellow he would have known that was me, and that our plan had worked. Knowing me, as he thought, he probably hadn’t given a second thought to my method of departure from his villa. And that despite the key ring and the precautions.
A beautiful warm feeling began in me and continued to grow. The very fact that the Princess Majestrix of Vallia was coming to see Princess Lildra, that Vallia was willing to join hands with the Hyrklese in defending ourselves against Hamal, had a tonic effect on everyone and our ranks grew prodigiously. We were marching on Huringa, a growing tide of eager volunteers. And the name of Vallia meant something, even here, even this far away. So I felt the future glowed with promise.
The very next day as we marched into a town whose inhabitants turned out to cheer us, a contingent of the Hyrklanian army marched in from the other end. There were three regiments of foot and a cavalry regiment of totrixmen. Before an ugly scene developed, the soldiers began to cheer for Princess Lildra. Well! That proved we would win, so said everyone, and much wine flowed and gusts of laughter burst above the mingled camps.
And then, of course, we had news that because the Hyrklanian army was proving unsatisfactory, even disloyal, Queen Fahia was busily at work hiring mercenaries to fight us. A deal of hard talk went on among our people, and when the froth of declamations blew away, it did seem as though we would go on and fight and win. But the news deteriorated even further. More and more mercenaries were pouring into the country, paid for with broad Hyrklanian gold deldys, and we saw we had a fight on our hands.
When we reached the River Llindal we camped just above the water meadows near a copse in which still stood the ruins of a temple to a half-forgotten god. Instead of sending for me when we wished to talk, as was the usual custom, Nath the Retributor sought me out as I dropped sticks onto the fire. By this time I had acquired a fine zorca to ride, and a tent and gear, and a cheerful helpmate in Wango the Mak, a shock-headed fellow who had run off from his master and whom I had taken it on myself to manumit. He was fetching the water. Nath walked up and then, glancing around and seeing we were unobserved, motioned for me to enter my tent. Intrigued, in I went. He followed. At once, the moment we were inside, he started to go into the full incline, that slavish Kregan bow of fulsome proportions, a hateful grovel.
“Stand up, man!” I said, somewhat testily, for of course I could guess what had happened.
“Majister!” said Nath the Retributor.
“Of Vallia, not of Hyrklana. Why do you know now, Nath?”
“I have word from Pallan Orlan Mahmud. The Princess Majestrix will ride in this evening — Orlan felt that you—”
“Considerate of him. And only you know about me?”
“Yes, majister.”
“Well, leave it at Jak for the moment. We will see.”
“Yes, majister.”
By Zair! There we were, back again to the “Yes, majisters” all the time. Confound it!
The meeting during which our chiefs would meet the party who had ridden secretly from Huringa was to take place in the ruined temple. The twin suns slanted into the western sky. The half-forgotten god’s name was, I believe, Rhampathey. Wango the Mak finished cooking the meal and I ate hugely and then went off to the River Llindal and, stripping off, plunged in. I did not swim but washed thoroughly. Then I had a Fristle fifi with her cunning scissors clip my hair and trim me up smartly. I took out the scarlet breechclout, neatly washed and pressed, and donned that old favorite, along with my armor and gear. I walked about the camp for a space, talking to no one, meeting no one’s eye. When I saw Lildra walking toward me among the tents I turned sharply away and took myself off, pretending not to have seen her. I wandered about. I chewed my lip. I fiddled with my swords and harness. The suns sank... Presently the messenger came for me and, together with Nath the Retributor and others of our chiefs, off I went toward the Temple of Rhampathey.
At my express wish Nath’s conduct toward me was no different from usual, and I was just one of the crowd as we went in among the ruins. The stone looked leached. Lichens splotched the pillars and fallen walls, forming ancient faces of mildew and decay. The Maiden with the Many Smiles and She of the Veils were already up, sailing above our heads and casting down their rose and golden radiance. Insects buzzed for a brief space, but the ruins absorbed sound and the place lay dead and silent.
A Chuktar next to me breathed hoarsely through his open mouth. He kept his fist wrapped around his sword hilt. I walked quietly. The place appeared ghostly, uncanny, and no one would have been surprised at ambush or the sudden apparition of skeleton men. All that happened was the approach of a body of people from the other direction, bearing lanterns, unnecessary in the light of the moons.
I stared eagerly toward those people illuminated by the lantern glow. Over there, walking toward me, was Lela!
I did not rush forward. I wanted to savor this moment, so I stayed a little way in rear, moving to the side, staring as the newcomers approached.
And then I saw among those strangers a familiar face.
She had doffed her blue tunic, and her black leathers shone liquidly in the radiance of the moons as though molded to her. Her legs — very long, very lovely legs — stamped along in her tall black boots. Her brown Vallian hair and brown Vallian eyes, the carriage of her, upright, defiant, all gave me a swift and poignant pang of affection and love for my Delia, for this Valona whom I had last met trying to slash me with her claw, while nothing like Delia, yet reminded me of her. She did not remind me of my middle daughter, Dayra, who was called Ros the Claw. But, even as the crowd closed around her, I remembered I had had that feeling I was reminded by her of someone I knew. There had been no time to puzzle out the riddle then, when we’d stormed through the deserted spaces of the Temple of Malab the Kazzin and found Tyfar tied up and then Jaezila, and not much since. All the same, the wearing of black leathers and tall black boots, the swishing about of a rapier, even brown Vallian eyes and hair, do not make two women look the same. Valona, who was not called Valona the Claw, did not resemble in any profound way Delia or Dayra or even Jilian.
We went on in the moon’s light and I swallowed and licked my lips.
The idea occurred to me that no man would ever know the secrets of the Sisters of the Rose, nor even how many of them there were, or who wore the steel claw among them. Jilian Sweet Tooth was a good friend to Delia and me and she couldn’t tell me so much as a spider’s eyelash about the SoR. That Lela had preceded Dayra through Lancival, where these girls learned how with their claws to chop up nasties, seemed eminently logical.
The crowd bunched to pass between craggy buttresses of rotting stone, ancient and stained in the moonshadows, and I was pushed a little to the side. Bushes grew from cracks in the stones and paving flags. The smell of night flowers hung on the air. The two parties hurried forward. Lildra, with Nath in attendance, stepped out ahead.