A Handful Of Men - The Stricken Field Part 24

"They'll follow him now! War!"

"You bet they will! Chances like this don't come in a hundred years."

There was a powerful silence, then, as the thane digested the news. More beer dripped coldly on Gath. In the end it was the other man who spoke, but much less surely than before.

"The imps suspect. They've got half a cohort on Pier Twelve. If they knew for certain that was Drakkor's longship, things mighta""

A crash of thunder made both eavesdroppers jerk in alarm. Apparently someone had banged a large fist on the table.

"If you're hinting that I woulda"" The amba.s.sador's hairy hand had closed on the hilt of his dagger.

"No! No!" the other man said hastily. "Thinking of selling him yourself?"

"No, no, no! Of course not!" The other man was keeping his hands under the table, and they were shaking.

"Then don't even dream it," Kragthong growled. "Men have seen their own lungs for less."

He released his dagger. Hands disappeared and there was another pause for drinking . . .

"You heading to the moot, Thane?" the other man asked. "Course."

"He's been bragging about adding Spithfrith to his collection."

"Ha! I'm not scared of that pipsqueak," the big man growled. "Drakkor gives me one crooked look I may just waive amba.s.sadorial immunity and do the world a favor." The words seemed oddly unconvincing to Gath, although he could not tell why.

"They may strip it off you anyway. He'll have the votes this year, with everyone breathing fire like that."

There was a pause. A long pause.

"You might be right," Kragthong muttered. "G.o.d of Blood! I got some important news for them. Was going to take some guests along."

"Your decision," the other man said cheerfully. "Been nice working for you. Get the chance, be sure and mention my name to your successor."

The thane rumbled a few obscenities and made more swallowing noises. "Anything else to report?" The tankard thumped down again, sounding empty.

"Rumor has it the legions have gone from Ollion, too. The caliph's bidding high on shipping."

"Fire and blood!" The old man belched thunderously and moved his boots back, preparing to rise. His hands came into view, taking a small bag from a pocket. It clinked as the spy's hand accepted it.

"I'll also give you some free advice," the amba.s.sador said. "Get out of town and stay out."

"Thanks. Kinda thought o'that myself, though."

Thane Kragthong half snorted a laugh. "You know, I'm afraid it might prejudice my standing in Dwanish if I was present at a war moot. Just remembered an important engagement!"

"Wise," the other man said softly.

"You'd best keep reporting to the same address. Gwurkiarg's not so bad a fleapit after all!"

The other man laughed dutifully, both rose. Boots and bare feet moved away together.

Gath sat up, feeling very shaky. He'd known every word in advance, and yet the real thing was terrifying. He knew what he did nexta"was he truly as crazy as that?

Vork looked as if he'd died, painfully. He licked his lips and said nothing.

"You're not going to Nintor, kinsman," Gath said hoa.r.s.ely.

Vork shook his head. "You knew?" he muttered.

"I knew."

"Gath . . . You don't think Dad's scared, do you?" Vork's world had just been shaken to its roots. "Scared of Drakkor?"

"Course he's not scared, he's a thane. You hearda"important business. Come on."

No one noticed as they emerged from under the table. Neither suggested finishing the beer. They headed for the door.

The streets outside were muddy and smelly, but the cool air was a blessing. Gath drew in great gulps of it. His heart was thudding painfully around in his chest and his throat hurt. There was no sign of the amba.s.sador. Pigeons strutted on the street, and a pair of gnome children were stalking them like cats.

"Back to the ship?" Vork said.

Gath shook his head. "I said I needed your help, right? Want you to do something for me, a favor."

Vork nodded agreement, but he wasn't going to do it when he heard what it was, of course.

"Wait an hour?" Gath said confidently. "Then go back. When they ask you where I am, tell thema"but not before!"

"What?" Vork shouted. "Where are you going?"

"It's important that the message gets to the thanes," Gath said. "Your dad isn't going. If he doesn't, then the imperor daren't, and probably not any of them. Mom can't, obviously."

Vork somehow managed to produce two red patches on his cheeks while the rest of his face stayed chalky white, except for the bruise, which was purple now. "You can't!"

"I've got to!" Gath said, wishing he didn't more than he had ever wished anything. "It's my duty." It was hard on Moma"first Kadie, now hima"but he thought Dad would have approved, and that was all that mattered now. Dad had given his life for the cause, so he could risk his.

"You can't!" Vork said again.

They both moved aside as a wagon went by, and neither of them even noticed it.

"Yes, I can. I'm a thane's son! I can go to the moot!"

"How? You've got no money!"

"Drakkor's in town," Gath said, and already he knew what Drakkor looked like. "You heard. He's a thane of Gark, and he's another kinsman, and he's going to the moot. I'm going to go to his ship and ask him to take me with him."

"He won't!" Vork squealed.

"He does," Gath said sadly, wishing it wasn't so. "He laughs a lot, but he does. He's leaving very, shortly."

The redness spread all over Vork's baby face. "I'm coming with you!"

Yes, he was. "It may be dangerous," Gath warned. "Didn't sound like your dad's friends with Drakkor."

"He's my kinsman, too! Besides, only thanes get challenged."

"I know that. You're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure!"

Gath grinned. There was no use arguing, because this was how it happened. "All right. Come on then. Pier Twelve! Let's go, kinsman!"

4.

The worst part of war was the waiting. No one should know that better than Emshandar the Fifth, by the grace of the G.o.ds rightful imperor of Pandemia, lord of the four oceans et cetera et cetera, former proconsul, former legate, former tribune. Yet, while waiting to do something was bad enough, as he knew from a score of battles, waiting to do nothing was even worse.

Shandie had taken a brief stroll along the levee and was now heading back to the ship. Half the town was underwater, and he was familiar enough with the dreary place that he had no desires to investigate it further. It breathed unhappy memories. Just to be back in the Impire, his Impire, was a strangely unwelcome sensation. Even the sight of legionaries brought a lump to his throat. They should be springing to attention and saluting, and instead they ignored him totally. They all bore the hourgla.s.s symbol of the XIVth Legion, which was both curious and infuriating. The XIIIth had been stationed at Fort Agraine. Someone had moved the XIIIth into Urgaxox, the IVth and VIIIth out. Somebody was tampering with his army, and if it wasn't the odious dwarf it must be Cousin Emthoro, who was almost as odious and an idiot besides.

Shandie had worked with the XIIIth during his days in Guwush. He pa.s.sed a tribune he thought he knew, but no one would recognize him. Anyone who saw the imperor walking around the docks of Urgaxox dressed as an artisan would a.s.sume he was a hallucination.

Besides, every man was busy keeping watch on the Nordland longships. As well they might! Even civilized jotnar on trading ships were unpredictable and dangerous. The undomesticated variety was about as trustworthy as hungry white bears, and uncommonly evident in town at the moment. Fifty men to a longship . . . the army's records showed that one longship was at least equal to a maniple, two hundred men, odds of four to one. More than once a single longship crew had bested a whole cohort, ten to one. Those records were locked in a vault in Hub, as secret as fear of death could make them.

The sight of so many blond heads naturally brought Shandie's thoughts back to the Nintor Moot. According to the amba.s.sador, as many as fifty thanes might attend, although only a score or so were of much importance, meaning they could outfit more than one longship. The longships drawn up on the beaches might number over a hundreda"five thousand men, the equivalent to a legion. No, thank you. Were Shandie ever to take on the men of Nordland, he would want much better odds than even. When the war horns sounded; there were plenty more where those came from, too.

The Nintor Moot was an experience he would give a hand for. Very rarely in history had foreign visitors been invited to the moot and even more rarely admitted. A couple of his remote predecessors had attended, although not as reigning imperors. For an outsider to be invited was incredible good fortune, and especially when the invitation came from an amba.s.sador, who could provide the diplomatic immunity other thanes could not. Heading along the pier, back to Gurx, Shandie slavered at the thought of going to Nintor.

Alas, Nintor would be suicide, not just for him, but for any of his companions, also. He had come to that conclusion days ago, and it became more obvious every time he thought about it. Whoever went to the thanes' moot would be s.n.a.t.c.hed by the Covin. He had not said so yet; no one had, but he was sure they were all just waiting for someone else to break the ice. They all dreaded the reaction such prudence would provoke from Thane Kragthong. Despite his peaceable retirement occupation as Nordland's amba.s.sador to Dwanish, the big man was still a fearless, bloodthirsty raider at heart. He had enough battle stories to freeze a salamander. The old rogue must be relishing the thought of the thunderbolt he would release when he asked the moot's indulgence to hear the imperor, or even the female thane of Krasnegar: Outrage! Uproar! He would spurn the danger, and spurn those who considered danger.

Shandie climbed the planka"and dodged. A huge airborne ma.s.s hurtled toward him, with two brawny blond giants clinging underneath, slithering across the deck, sweating and cursing. How much they were guiding it and how much it was towing them was not clear. They crashed into the side and their dangerous burden swung free, out over the pier and the wagon waiting. They rushed off, bare feet drumming on the planks. The cargo was being unloaded. Jotnar worked as fiercely as they fought, hurling the ironware into nets, running instead of walking, hauling ropes, all in a frenzy as if every second counted. The dwarvish officers watched in saturnine silence, doing nothing to help.

The hatch covers had been piled near the bow. Inos and the warlock were using them as a bench, sitting side by side in the morning sun. They were an ill-matched pair. The dwarf was garbed in black mineworker clothes, shabby and well-worn. Only his broad nose and gray-agate eyes showed between his bristly beard and the brim of his hat. He had his boots planted on the deck and his troll-size hands on his knees, and he gave the impression he was going to stay there until the mountains washed to the sea.

The seat was too low to be comfortable for Inos. Her knees stuck up and she was leaning back on her arms, but she was laughing at something and sunlight lit gold highlights on her honey-blond hair. No longer younga"yet still a striking woman, neither imp nor jotunn. Such mixtures were usually awkward misfits, but in Inos a man could see possibilities the G.o.ds had overlooked when They made the standard races. A very remarkable woman, Queen Inosolan! She was accustomed to getting her own way and did not see why she must change her habits just because she no longer ruled all she surveyed. She could flash from guile to fury in seconds; stab to the heart of a problem like a rapier; juggle humor and flattery with logic and a line of invective that would embarra.s.s a centurion. Her arms and legs protruded from sailor's breeches and jerkin. Such garb for a lady was utterly bizarre, and yet she was obviously a woman to be reckoned with. Shandie had learned at last not to underestimate her.

Her smile of welcome flashed emerald and ivory. He knelt down in front of her and sat back on his heels. That made his eyes about level with the dwarf's.

"Any news?" he demanded.

Raspnex scratched at his beard. He had been staying out of sight for the past few days, holed up in his cabin as if sulking. "Nope. Too slaggy much power around, is all. This place is giving me the shivers."

"It's natural they would watch for us here. It's the front door to Dwanish."

"You didn't see Gath anywhere, did you?" Inos asked, sitting up.

Shandie shook his head.

She frowned. "Apparently he went off with Vork. I hope they're not getting into mischief."

"He's fourteen!" Raspnex snorted. "At fourteen mischief is an obligation."

"Vork's fifteen."

"Worse."

"How about sixteen?" Shandie asked.

"Sixteen is better. By then at least you know what sort of mischief they're after."

Inos and Shandie exchanged winks. The dwarf's dry humor was rare as raw diamonds, but equally worth collecting.

With oaths, cracking of whip, and much squeaking from axles, the loaded wagon moved away. The shirtless giants drooped for a moment in sweaty silence and the dwarves tallied their records. Then another, empty, wagon rolled up and the whole noisy business started again.

Shandie got down to specifics. "How do you two feel about the Nintor Moot? Inos?"

Green eyes studied him carefully for a moment. "Crazy. If Rap's been taken, he'll have told them he suggested it to you. Even if he hasn't, it's just too obvious."

"I agree," the warlock growled.

"So do I," Shandie admitted, surprised that there was to be no argument.

Inos said, "The trick we pulled on the Directorate won't work twice."

Pause. "No, it wouldn't," Raspnex said.

"What would happen," Shandie asked, "if you did try the same trick again and they caught you? I mean, if you projected yourself into the future and they were waiting for you there?a"Then, I mean? However you put it."

"Sizzle!" the little man said. "I'd come back fried. Anyone stands up at the moot and starts to talk about sorcery, he's going to be blasted by thunderbolts. None of us three'd set foot on the island before being nabbed. Even if we hadn't sapped the Directorate, the Nintor Moot's just too high grade for my nephew not to keep an eye on it. Now he knows where we are, roughly, and what we're up toa" now he'll have pits dug. I say we forget the thanes and head south."

Inos sighed, and smiled. "I wanted to say so sooner, but I thought you'd call me a nervous old maid."

"Me, too!" Shandie chuckled. "I'm not suicidal yet! Besides . . . how many sorcerers are there in Nordland anyway?"

"d.a.m.n few, I think," Raspnex growled. "Jarga doesn't know of any."

"Thane Kalkor was a sorcerer," Inos said. "The one Rap killed."

The dwarf shrugged his thick shoulders. "Well, he was an exception, then. Jotnar have no truck with sorcery as a rule."

"So the game isn't worth the candle," Shandie said. "We'll forget about Nintor. I just hate the thought of breaking the news to old Kragthong. He's relishing the thought of setting the moot by its ears. He's going to be very disappointed, to say the least."

"Bloodthirsty old killer," Raspnex snorted. "We can tell him to go ahead by himself, but I'm sure he won't get five words out before his beard goes on fire."

After a moment Inos said, "If not Nordland, then Guwush?"

Mm! Shandie shivered. Zinixo might be keeping less of a watch on the gnomes, but the mundane dangers would be even greater. Rebellion still festered in the hills and forests. Shandie himself had earned great hatred when he helped put down the gnomes' last-but-one revolt. He had slaughtered thousands of the little horrors at Highscarp. Moreover, it was hard to imagine asking gnomes for help in anything, they were such inconspicuous, secretive people. Yet they could be implacable fighters when they wanted, like rats.