Scorpio Invasion (10 page)

“Well?”

“Take your pick.”

I watched him as he opened the boxes — standard Vallian Army service issue — and chose his bow. He made a good selection. His face betrayed his joy in archery and his pride in hitting the mark. He was, in those moments, more human than he’d been apart from his reactions to the shuckerchun. I’d have to dump him the first chance that came along.

“I swore I’d go adventuring as a Bowman of Loh. And, by Hlo-Hli, here I am doing exactly that!”

He evidently wanted to prattle on and as I could sink into my own thoughts for a spot of privacy he burbled on happily for some time. I managed the occasional monosyllable in reply. Then he said: “Your guards are very ferocious. I was fascinated by them. They are clearly devoted to your person and they hold you in great awe—”

“Awe?”

“Oh, yes. But I do not think they fear you.”

“Fear me? By Vox, lad, I should certainly hope not!”

“Yet they go out and die for you.”

“When they do they do,” I said, grumpily. Good men and women dying is a sore subject with me. So I went on: “You should see all the regiments on parade! The bands, the flags, the glitter and swing of it. Yes, that is the side of soldiering one should see and relish; but, of course, the reality is messy and unpleasant. My lads know I dislike wars. I try to keep ’em alive, and they appreciate that.”

“Oh,” he said with that know-all condescending air: “They appreciate much more than that in their Kendur, the Emperor of Emperors.”

“And you,” I said with grave solemnity, “if there’s any more of that then it’s over the side with you and no remberee!”

He had the grace to look away and keep silent.

Dray Prescot does not get buttered up very easily, no, by Krun!

The meal was splendid and was splendidly dealt with. As we sat back, Rollo said: “I sense something — it is interesting. Look, I would like to carry out an experiment. Would you please close your eyes.”

Now there are folk on Kregen — and, by Krun, on this Earth, too — in whose presence I’d never dream of closing my eyes for a moment. Still, I felt I could trust this young Rollo the Runner. So I closed my eyes.

In no very long time I heard the unmistakable sounds of Rollo being sick.

When I opened my eyes he was leaning over the rail emptying all that beautiful meal overside.

There were water pots and towels aboard and after he’d recovered and cleaned himself up I looked at his face. It was still green. He’d washed the sweat globules off. He didn’t meet my eye.

“Your experiment went wrong?”

He took a swig of water and made a face. He looked most unhappy.

“No. It was entirely successful.”

“In that case, save me from your failures.”

He gave me a mean look and took another drink. “I sensed, as I said, something. Now I know what it is. You have a caul.”

“So Deb-Lu informs me. It is sorcery.”

“It is extraordinarily powerful—” he began. Then I caught on.

“I see! You’d have made me bring my guts up if Deb-Lu’s caul of protection hadn’t reflected your damned spell or whatever! I see—”

“No, no. A twinge only, I assure you.”

I eyed him balefully; but I couldn’t be wroth with the lad. He was only doing what his nature and interests led him to do. And, anyway, he’d come unstuck. On Kregen they cannot express that kind of disaster by saying the experiment backfired. They do have a saying, expressed in a single short word, that you swung with your sword and cut your own toes off. All that is compressed into the word snizzed. Rollo’s experiment had snizzed.

“H’m. Very well. Also, my lad, this means you can perform feats of magic. That could be very useful—”

“Or it could get me killed. I know.”

“So be it. Now, as you are intent on flying with me, it is necessary that you learn to pilot.”

He looked alarmed. “Fly this contraption?”

“Shuckerchun.”

He wiped his face with the yellow towel. “Yes, I see. Very well.”

To handle an airboat of Kregen and control the silver boxes that give lift and motion is not very difficult. A certain skill is easy to master. Rollo was quick and intelligent and he had the knack very quickly. It is easy enough to fly a voller. The true skill of the great pilots comes with practice, dedication, verve and sheer giftedness in the air. Some of those daredevils can perform hair-raising stunts. A top class voller pilot is greatly valued in any country’s Air Service.

Landing a flier is the trickiest part of the whole flight envelope. The pilot must judge his height and at precisely the right time operate the controls which draw the silver boxes apart in their brass and balass orbits. I never forget the first time Delia showed me all this. That was a heart-stopper, on more than one level, thanks be to Opaz!

“Gently, Rollo, that’s the style. Get the feel and lower down gently.”

We hit the grass with an almighty thump.

“Take her up and try again. Gently.”

This time the bump was appreciably less.

“Again.”

This time I had to grab the controls and thrust the lever hard over so that we shot up into the air like a leaping salmon. I said: “I don’t want to have to keep on asking Lord Farris for more vollers.”

Rollo’s green tinge returned.

“This time nice and gently, then we’ll see.”

He made a near perfect landing. We came down in a clearing among the trees which did not contain a circular bright green centre.

“I tell you what,” he exclaimed, the successful landing already history. “I’ll shoot you a round.”

“Done.”

So, there and then, we took up our bows, strung them, tested, and agreed the marks and ranges. He was very good. I think even Seg would have found a mite of grudging praise. For some reason I shot badly. This, I think, was that my mind kept ribbiting away at the frustrating problems of the future down south. This is, I know, unforgivable in a fighting man, and I have no excuse. The upshot was, I lost by a wide margin.

Rollo made no comment on my miserable shooting. In that, at the least, he showed a tact belonging to an older head. He might have commented that there went another Dray Prescot legend laid to rest. Mind you, most of the stories about shooting prowess were really down to Seg, as were the yarns of Dray Prescot leaping about with a great Saxon axe down to Inch.

“As you won you may have the honor of collecting up all the arrows.”

The tree we were using as a mark bristled with shafts. Quite a few of mine had gone hurtling past further into the forest.

Rollo sniffed. “The prizes for marksmanship in Vallia are too generous.”

“Don’t,” I advised him, “don’t ask what you get if you lose.”

“Not justice, that’s for sure, by Lingloh!”

“As we made no formal wager, no reward legitimately accrues. However, as you did manage to win, you may keep the bow and a couple of score.”

“Ah! Now that is more like it. I give you thanks.”

He went off to collect up the shafts in a much happier frame of mind.

I wasn’t fool enough to think that a man — or a lad like Rollo — could be bought with cheap and easy gifts. There would be a considerable amount of prickly disdain from young Rollo the Runner yet.

When we climbed aboard, Rollo observed the fantamyrrh, which pleased me, and he took off with great panache, sweeping us up into the sky in headlong style. A few high clouds were forming and the day was well on the wane; I hadn’t much cared for the proximity of those trees where we’d indulged in our toxophily. Rollo, I was sure, had I mentioned my suspicions, would have put them down to my losing the contest. A view which may have had some truth in it, by Krun.

We spotted a nice little river winding through a valley, with clumps of trees dotted here and there. The grass was still a nice green; but not that bright a green. In the shadows of the distance the red roofs and white spires of a town appeared to float among the haze. The Suns would soon be gone.

We camped aboard the voller for the night. We stood watch and watch. Although we might well have been safer had we continued to fly through the night there were two strikes against that course. One was that, even though we were in voller-less Loh, I was not altogether sure of blindly hurtling on through the darkness. The other was that I judged the experience would severely unsettle Rollo’s nerves.

As is usual during an expedition, each meal may be your last. So I made sure we ate up well. This, then, formed the pattern of the succeeding period as we sped steadily on over Loh. More and more I came to appreciate Rollo’s qualities. I felt absolutely certain Deb-Lu could turn him into a first class Wizard of Loh. The weather grew warmer.

“Drajak,” he said, one fine morning. “Do you intend to fly over Chem?” Now this was exactly the problem exercising my mind. Chem, tropical, clothed with jungles, fetid, stuffed with all manner of monsters, was not an inviting prospect. If we stayed aloft we should be safe, despite the certain sure presence there of gigantic flying creatures, all jaws and claws.

“If we trend westwards and fly along the coast we may attract unwelcome attention.”

“Shanks.”

“Aye.”

“Some seasons ago I saw Las-po-Wehning just after he returned from Chem. He’d had a good position there, for almost forgotten cities exist deep within the jungles. The folk are as ferocious and unforgiving as the monsters they combat. Las-po had a yellow skin, sunken burning eyes, thin to the bone, with the shakes. He swore by the Seven Arcades nothing would induce him to return to Chem.”

“All the same, we would be flying.”

“You mean, you fly these contraptions at night time?”

I gave him a brief history of the troubles we used to experience with airboats we bought from Hamal. “Now Hamal is an ally they supply good vollers.”

“You mean people risked their lives in these things knowing they could break down?”

“That was in the bad old days.”

I did not elaborate. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that much. The truth was, any voller might break down for a variety of reasons, however fine the craftsmanship and excellent the silver boxes. Even today.

Rollo had the habit of abruptly changing the subject of conversation. He did this with a considerable measure of skill and with purpose. He’d come back to the original subject when it suited him. Now he said: “Your guards, for all your coddling of them, were most anxious to get into the fights ahead. They foresee many battles under your command as Emperor of Emperors, Emperor of Paz. They struck me as anxious to show the world their mettle.”

This young feller-me-lad, this apprentice Wizard of Loh, had an old head on his shoulders — sometimes. He saw through outward appearances.

“H’m,” I said. “I’m not too sure about that. They are well aware of my views on battles.”

“Of course. But if you wish to be the Emperor of Paz—”

“Just a moment, my lad! I don’t want to be the blasted Emperor of Paz! My Val! Just think of what that entails. What I must do is forge alliances, friendships, between the countries of Paz. And far too many of them are at one another’s throats as it is. That’s not a job any sane man or woman would want, is it now?” If he could see through outward appearances, as I have just indicated, surely he could see I didn’t want the rotten job?

“There are people who would leap at it.”

“Makibs, the lot of ’em. Look, you have a parcel of land that two nations claim. They go to war over it, and the issue is settled until the next war. I’ve got to go along to them both and mediate. I’ve got to sort out the problem. I’ve got to say one nation has the land and the other does not. Or I split it up. No matter what I decide, I’m wrong. Right?”

He favored me with a little smile. “But, think of the glory, the pomp, the prestige! That would make any man’s blood rise.”

“It is very clear you have no understanding of me—” I began. Then I hauled myself up. That little smile played over his face, crinkling his lips. Oh, yes, he was a wise one! He was searching me out, was testing me. The truth was, he remained a Wizard of Loh. I’d offered him employment, or, more correctly, had offered to become a client. He wanted to know my feelings and my attitudes to power. As he was perfectly entitled to do.

Slowly, I said: “Have you ever heard of a Wizard of Loh called Phu-Si-Yantong?”

He lost the smile at once.

“He betrayed the most sacred teachings of Whonban. Oh, yes, he was known. Now he is dead.”

“Thank Opaz. And, yet, I always searched for some good in him.”

“My teachers, also, looked. I do not think any was found.”

“Well, then. He stands as an example. Yet I continue to choose to believe he was not wholly evil—”

With all the arrogance of youth he snapped: “That is mere foolishness.”

“Perhaps.”

He turned away to stare over the side at the horizon. I felt — I hoped — my replies had answered the questions he must have answered.

I said: “I’ve been stuck with this job of being a high and mighty emperor. Believe you me, by Vox, the moment the job is done I’m throwing in my hand. I have other things to do—”

“Better things?”

“In certain contexts, of course. In the context of the Shank invasion, those better things must wait. It’s a damned duty thrust on me.”

“When we have accomplished our adventure together, I shall be happy to study in Vallia with San Deb-Lu-Quienyin.”

“Dondo!”Which is a way of saying: “Good!”

Again he changed the subject. He picked up one of the arrows, twiddling it between his fingers. “It is an acknowledged fact that the best fletchings are made from the blue feathers of the king korf of Erthyrdrin.” He gently smoothed the rose red fletchings made from the zim-korf of Valka. Farris knew my predilection in the matter of arrows and had stowed away these Valkan shafts for me. Brown and white feathers were more common, still, in the Vallian Army’s arsenal of shafts. “These are not stained red. What is their origin? For, by Lingloh, they are very fine.”

I told him, and added: “Even Bowmen of Erthyrdrin have been known to praise these over their own — sometimes.”

He went on to say that the bow I’d given him was very fine, and waxed quite warm over its qualities. I didn’t say that since the Archery of Vallia had been controlled and inspected by Seg only the very very best would suffice. I admit I looked forward with keen anticipation to Seg’s reactions to this young feller-me-lad and his ambitions to become a Bowman of Loh.