A Handful Of Men - The Stricken Field Part 15

Samuel Daniel, Love Is a Sickness

FIVE.

Signifying nothing

1.

"My mission is extremely urgent!" Acopulo bleated. "If you will explain this urgency, then I am sure your departure can be expedited," Lop'quith said soothingly.

"I have told you! My business is secret!"

"How can that be? You are a priest, and while the G.o.ds' business is naturally confidential to the uttermost in individual cases, in general terms it concerns us all."

Balked again!

Acopulo had been trapped in Ilrane for two weeks. Star of Morning had avoided shipwreck in Dragon Reach, although barely. Battered and leaking, she had limped into the elvish port of Vislawn. When the customs officials had come aboard, they had ransacked her from stem to stern. They had uncovered Shandie's letters to the caliph. Star of Morning had departed without her pa.s.senger.

An elvish prison was admittedly very pleasant. When forced to build cities, elves concealed them. Vislawn was a great sprawl of islands at the mouth of the river, all its buildings hidden within trees. Acopulo had a pleasant cabana all to himself. He had a whole island all to himself. It had flowers and shade and a silver beach. The meals that were delivered twice a day were the sort of cuisine that Lord Umpily dreamed of. But a prison was a prison. Every few days, someone new would come to interrogate him. Politely, of coursea"an elf became ill at the very thought of whips or knuckle-dusters. The questioning took place under the trees in bowers of scented blossoms. The present inquisitor, Lop'quith, was fairly typical. He wore nothing but skimpy pants of scarlet and turquoise silk, and had no more fat on him than a dead twig. The skin stretched over his bones was a shiny gold. He claimed to be exarch of the Olipon sept of the senior branch of the Quith clan, and surrogate speaker of law for the Sovereignty of Quolea"which might mean a lot or absolutely nothing. He looked no older than fourteen, but one could never tell with elves. He might be exactly what he seemed, a kid playing a practical joke on the foreigner, or he might be what he said, an important government official. In that case, he shaved his armpits.

Acopulo dabbed at the sweat streaming down his forehead. The priestly robes he wore over his normal garb were very uncomfortable in this hot, sticky climate. He suspected that a genuine priest would wear only the robes, but to him that would seem like a confession of weakness. He shifted on the bench, trying to ignore the cloying sweetness of the flowering shrub at his back.

"You believe I am lying. Then bring forth a sorcerer, and I shall be happy to repeat my story for him." Oh, how he would like to talk with a sorcerer!

Lop'quith shook his head regretfully. "The law does not recognize sorcery. If a judge had to admit that witnesses' memories could be altered, or the physical universe itself changed on an ad hoc basis, then he could never reach any verdict at all!" His tuneful voice turned the nonsensical words to song.

"You used sorcery to discover the letter I bore, and my money belt! I expect you have already had the letters read for you, without breaking the seals."

The kid's eyes widened, flickering from rose and aquamarine to cobalt and malachite. "You wish to make this charge?"

"What if I do?" Acopulo asked uneasily.

"It will be a serious matter! The Office of Occult Manifestations will have to be advised, and the Mundane Affairs Inquisitor of the gens will certainly want to become involved."

G.o.d of Torment!

"Then I withdraw the accusation. Please, sira""

"Do just call me by my name, or *Deputy,' if you prefer."

"Please, Deputy, then. I did not intend to disembark at Vislawn. All I ask is to board a southbound ship as soon as possible. I do not see where Ilrane need be at all concerned with my affairs."

"But you are carrying letters from the sovereign of a realm with which we are bound by the Treaty of Clowd, 2998, to the ruler of one with which we may in this instance be in alliance under the Concord of Gaaze, 2875, as amended by the Covenant of Seven Liberties, Clause 18, Paragraph 14.b(i). As a cleric, you are also subject to the Law of Religious Harmonies of the Syndic of Elmas, 2432, or specifically to a codicila""

"Enough!" Acopulo wanted to weep. "I don't suppose there is any chance of appealing to Warlock Lith'rian, is there?"

The kid gasped. He ran the fingers of both hands through his curls of shiny gold wire. His voice soared an octave. "The warlock? The Supreme War Leader of the Eol Gens? Have you any idea of the bureaucratic complexities that you would invoke if you filed such a request? Indeed, I am not at all sure that even by raising the possibility, you may not have alreadya""

"Forget it!" Acopulo screamed. If the complexities alarmed an elf, they terrified him. "Is there any way at all that I can just . . . What's wrong?"

"There!" Lop' exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. "Did you see?"

"See what?" Acopulo twisted around to stare where the golden finger pointed.

"A Serene Ocarina! I have never seen one so early in the year!" The opal eyes flamed in sienna, cerulean, and ivory. Lop'quith's childish face had flushed bright copper with excitement.

"A what?"

"A Serene Ocarina! A b.u.t.terfly." Oh, G.o.d of Scorpions!

2.

The Imperor summoned the Senate at last. For days the capital had boiled with rumors of goblins and dwarves and disasters. Umpily had gathered up all the theories being circulated at court and reported them to Shandie as he was supposed to. Maddeningly, Shandie had just listened and grunted, but not confided in him.

Without question, Shandie had changed since ascending the throne. The old intimacy Umpily had treasured so long was missing now. Some nights he awoke in screaming terror, shattered by nightmares in which he had been right the first time and the ruler was the imposter and the missing fugitive the genuine imperor. In the clear light of day such ludicrous fancies were untenable, of course, and especially so when he was in Shandie's presencea"although those occasions were much rarer now than they had been.

A turnout of the full Senate would almost fill the Rotunda, leaving very few seats for other dignitaries. With the court still in mourning, though, many aristocrats had retired to their country estates to catch up on personal affairs. There were more spare seats available than usual, and Umpily was able to order his toga brought out of storage and squeeze his generous bulk in among the lesser n.o.bility.

By chance or craft, it was an East day, which was traditional for military matters. The Senate all sat on that side, therefore, a solid bank of scarlet togas behind the Gold Throne, so that the imperor would be facing them from the Opal Throne in the center. The minor peerage had to settle for the western seats, in back of the Red Throne. Umpily was put very high, near the back, where he would look down on the proceedings, but he had the Marquis of Mosrace on his right and the Duke of Whileboth on his left. Whileboth was frail now, but a shrewd soldier in his day. His comments would certainly be worthwhile if he managed to hear what was being said. His many acid remarks about old Emshandar had kept him out of the Senate, but he had slaughtered more than his share of dwarves in his time, had Whileboth. The legions had called him "Ironjaw."

As always, the proceedings failed to start on time. The audience fidgeted and muttered. Both Mosrace and Ironjaw were convinced that Umpily must know what news would be announced. He parried their queries as well as he could without actually admitting his ignorance. They gave up on him at last and pointedly fell into talk with their other neighbors, leaving him isolated.

He wished he could tell them that they need not worry. Whatever the truth behind the rumors, the evil, scheming wardens were gone forever. The Almighty had replaced them, guaranteeing that the Impire would prevail. Umpily could not say so, of course. He could not mention the Almighty to anyone, no matter how hard he tried.

The trumpets sounded and the consuls in their purplehemmed togas led in the procession, trooping in from the west door, dividing behind the Red Throne, and circling around. Bronze and gold flamed in the bright spring sunshine flooding down through the great dome. Marshal Ugoatho shone in gold armor and scarlet-crested helmet; his replacement as legate of the Praetorian Guard was very nearly as splendid. The impress in a simple chiton was enough to draw breath from every man present under the age of eighty, and most of the others, too. Shandie in purple mounting the Opal Throne . . .

Consul Eerieo was a new appointment, and a nonent.i.ty. No one could imagine why the imperor had chosen such a nincomp.o.o.p to run the Senate for him.

"One gets you ten he makes a botch of the invocation," Mosrace muttered. He had no takers, and Consul Eerieo made a memorable botch. After all that, it was with a strong sense of relief that everyone sat down again to hear what Emshandar V had to say on this, his first formal act as imperor.

"Honored Consuls, your Eminences . . ." His voice was strong, and quite audible. He wasted no breath on preliminaries. He threw the facts before them like gruesome relics.

The truth was much, much worse than the rumors, and the Great Hall seemed to grow colder and colder as the report unfolded.

Without the slightest provocation, the Impire's boundaries had been violated by both goblins and dwarves. Four legionsa"the IIIrd, IXth, XVIIth, and XXIXtha"had ceased to exist, with hardly a survivor to tell the story. The immensity of the disaster was stunning. As an augury of the new reign, it could not have been worse. As a portent of the millennium, it was terrifying. With the old man barely cold in his grave, the young Emshandar, who had been Shandie, the darling of the army, was telling of twenty thousand dead. And what of the civilians? In harsh, unemotional tones, he read out lists of towns and cities sacked.

All around Umpily, hardened, cynical old politicians were sobbing. Some of their distress came from patriotism, but many of those men were learning of their ruin, of herds and lands and wealth destroyed. The towns of Whileboth and Mosrace both were mentioneda"devastated. The implications were even worse than the facts. The news must be weeks old. What had happened since? How close were the vermin now? Destruction and looting must be continuing even as the imperor spoke.

Old Ironjaw was mumbling obscenities, his ancient face as pale as chalk.

The litany of disaster drew to a close, and silence fell. Shandie turned a page. This young imperor was a strategic genius, wasn't he? Enrapt, the Senate waited to hear his response. It was impressive.

"We have set in motion the following countermeasures . . ."

First, he said, the Home Force, the four legions always stationed around the capital, had been regrouped to build a wall of bronze across the northern approaches to Huba"the Vth, XIth, XXth, and XXIInd. A sigh of relief rustled through the Rotunda. The capital itself was safe, then.

"Wall of bronze!" Ironjaw roared, in a voice like a rusty windmill. "The vermin have eaten four legions already!" The comment had been too audiblea"faces turned and grimaced when they saw who had spoken.

The imperor continued unperturbed. "Recruitment to replace the losses has already begun. Substantial reinforcements are on their way. From the Mosweeps we have summoned the VIIth, and the XXIIIrd from Lith. The Ist is already marching up from the Ilrane borderlands, and the XIVth will cross from Qoble as soon as the pa.s.ses open. We have sent to the Guwush theater for the IVth, VIIIth, XVth, and XXIVth. The IInd, normally charged with garrisoning the sh.o.r.es of Westerwater, has been ordered to retake Pondague Pa.s.s and cut off the goblins' supply lines. You need have no fear that we can repel the invaders with this ma.s.sive response!"

Flimsy applause flowered amid the senatorial benches and then withered into silence. Umpily had raised his hands to join in the clapping when realization came to him also.

Ma.s.sive? It was altogether too ma.s.sive. The cure sounded far more dangerous than the disease. How many legions? If Emshandar-who-had-been-Shandie thought he needed half the Imperial Army, then the danger must be close to mortal.

At Umpily's side, old Whileboth reeled to his feet. "Idiot!" he screamed. "Twelve legions? No man has ever attempted to control twelve legions!" The cracked old voice echoed through the Rotunda, too plain to be ignored. The imperor swung around on his throne and glared up at the heckler, his face flushing scarlet. The a.s.sembly muttered as it recognized Ironjaw. Umpily cowered away from the maniac and tried to hide his face in the folds of his toga.

"Idiot, I say!" the old soldier bellowed. "You are stripping the whole Impire of its defensesa"the jotnar and djinns and gnomes and elves will be right on their heels! How can you provision twelve legions? What supply lines do goblins need? How long until your orders arrive in Guwush? How long for those legions to march across Shimlundok?"

Umpily worked it out as everyone must be working it out: a thousand leagues at seven or eight leagues a day . . . four months! And they could not even begin until the orders reached them.

Consul Eerieo sprang up, but his words were lost in the sudden tumult.

Ironjaw tried to say more, stopped in apparent surprise, and toppled forward over the n.o.ble lords in front of him, slithering to the floor. They bent to his aid and then recoiled. Umpily heard the appalled whispers. Whileboth was dead.

In the shocked hush that followed, Shandie resumed his speech as if nothing had happened. "Turning to financial matters, we lay before you the following proposals . . . " He began to outline expenditures enormous and taxes unbelievable. Julgistro had always been one of the richest contributors to the Imperial fisc, but it would not be contributing now.

Why did he not mention the Almighty? Why did he not explain that the Impire was safe because it was guarded by the greatest army of sorcerers Pandemia had ever known? Umpily wanted to jump to his feet also and shout the good news, but of course he could not speak of the Almighty.

The speech ended. There was no ovation, only horrified whispering. While the imperial couple and the officials trooped out, peers and senators remained slumped in their seats as if dazed. Four legions destroyed! Innumerable cities burned. Two invading armies still at large. Ruinous taxation.

And months until Shandie could a.s.semble the gigantic force he seemed to think he required.

It was the coming of the millennium!

If the imperor had expected his response to soothe the nation, then he had gravely miscalculated. If he had deliberately set out to ignite a panic, then he had succeeded very well.

3.

Dwanis was a drab, gray land, drained by the Dark River, brooded over by the grim Isdruthud Range on one hand and the even greater North Wall on the other. The straggling convoy of wagons had entered the realm of the dwarves through ma.s.sively fortified gorges. Phalanxes of border guards had questioned, inspected, and grudgingly allowed it to pa.s.s.

Thereafter it had continued its snaillike progress over rutted, stony roads. Dwanish was more populated than the northern reaches of the Impire, but still bleak and stark. Its farms were lonely patches on the bleak moors, its towns squalid huddles of cramped cottages without pattern or plan. Trees were rare, flowers nonexistent. Except for waterwheels and windmill sails, everything was made of stone. Slag heaps of ancient mineworkings blighted the landscape and the air stank of smoke. Spring was an affair of mud and slush and bitter wind.

By and large the inhabitants ignored the caravan, or stared with surly, unfriendly eyes. Even the tiny children seemed uninterested, except when they caught sight of the two goblins or the young jotunn. Then they would run screaming home to their hovels.

Shandie had taken up wagon driving to keep himself from brooding over the fate of the Impire. As far as he knew, the invading armies must still be looting and destroying, for he had no information except,the negative certainty that the Covin had not intervened. Warlock Raspnex had detected no major sorcery, so the war remained mundane. The legions would be marching, and the imperor was not there to lead them. Weeks were slipping away in waste and worry.

Shifting from global view to personal was no improvement. Shandie could see no progress in his pitiful campaign against the usurper. Umpily had been captured; Acopulo had arrived in IIrane and then fallen silent. King Rap had stopped communicating, also. The counterrevolution seemed to be over before it had begun, and the remaining conspirators were resolutely marching into a trap in Dwanish. There seemed to be no way to accomplish what they had come to do without blundering into disaster.

One afternoon he was urging his weary ponies across a very boggy meadow. All Dwanishian rivers flooded in springtime, filling the air with a stench of mud. He was startled out of his black reverie by an apparition scrambling up on the bench beside him.

Young Gath was still growing at an incredible rate, visibly taller than he had been back at Kribur. His odd a.s.semblage of clothing was worn to rags; pipestem wrists protruded from the sleeves. He walked as if his boots pinched his feet. Yet, way up there, under a mop of golden hair, his face was still absurdly boyish, despite the jotunn jaw beginning to emerge from childhood softness. He perched on the seat, adjusted his long limbs into position, and smiled nervously down at the imperor.

"You want me, sir?" His voice never strayed from its adult register now.

"I do?"

"Well, you will. You're going to hail me as I go by. I mean, you were going to."

Shandie forced a welcoming smile and scratched his bushy black beard as he disentangled that information. "I still can't understand how you do that! It's a paradox!"

"Dad used to say that, too," Gath admitted glumly. Shandie winced. The lad must be just as worried now about his father as he was about his sister.

"Well, never mind. What do you think of beautiful Dwanish?"

"I never knew the world was so big! Mom says most of it looks better than this, though."

"It certainly does. Er . . . I expect you miss your friends back in Krasnegar?"

"I miss Kadie! And my friends, I suppose. Yes."

"Boys or girls?"

Gath's pale face blushed bright red. "Both."

If he was trying to put the lad at ease, Shandie thought, he was doing a horrible job of it. "I wonder why I was going to call you, though?"

"You want me to tell you, sir?"

G.o.d of Madness! Conversations with Gath were like no others. "Might save time."

"You were beginning to think you needed some fresh ideas, you said . . . will . . . would have said, I mean."

"Yes. Well, that's true. Do you like puzzles?"

The boy shrugged uncomfortably. "Not much. I either can't do them at all or I see the answer right away. No fun."

The imperor chuckled. "I don't think you'll see this one right away. It's got the warlock baffled, and the other sorcerers. I'm only a mundane, but I'm supposed to have a knack for strategy, and I'm stumped, too. Maybe if I explain it to you, it'll help me see it better myself."

Day after day, in pairs or larger groups, Shandie had been debating with the sorcerers, arguing over the problem awaiting them in Gwurkiarg. Talking about sorcery was agony for them, but gradually he had gathered up all the hints and slivers they had been able to confide. He prided himself that he had now gained an overall knowledge of sorcery that few mundanes in history had ever matched. It wouldn't hurt to enlighten the young jotunn, also, and talk out the problem.

After all, the preflecting pool had recommended Gath to him. Perhaps there was more to the prophecy than that miraculous rescue from the goblins' tortures. And Raspnex still felt the kid might be useful somehow.