“The Blue Mountains,” I said, mildly, “and the Black Mountains are nearer than Jhansi’s province of Vennar.”
He shook his head. “Only if we strike more westerly of north. And, majister, do not forget the Ochre Limits bar off Vennar and Falinur.”
My glance favored the map hung on the wall. The colors mocked me. The mountain chains and rivers, the canals and forests, the badlands and the lush agricultural heartlands, they all demanded attention. Movement of armies bedevils those who would bring overwhelming force to bear on their enemies.
“That is so, Nath. But the Blue Mountains-”
“The Empress, may Opaz shine the light of his countenance upon her, commands the hearts of all, and none more than those ruffians, the Blue Mountain Boys. I think whoever tried to subdue the Blue Mountains has rued the day.”
Again, I smiled. Well, Delia and her Blue Mountain Boys are enough to make any old sweat perspire a trifle.
“I had thought we would use the Great River and hit the northwest by curving in from the east.” My pointing finger described an arc in the air, extending those phantom lines of march on the map. “As we came in from the south. I had in mind a man to command that army.”
He knew exactly what I meant. And, the stubborn old graint, ignored that with sublime self-confidence.
“Any man would be proud to be appointed Kapt and command any army you entrusted into his hands. And there are many men in the army worthy of the task.” He looked at me, his eyebrows drawn down, almost challenging me. “As for me, majister, I command the Phalanx with your blessings and where you march there I march.”
I grumped at this. “And have I not explained to you, Kyr Nath, that the Phalanx is not best suited to mountain work?”
“Layco Jhansi, who deserves to be shortened by a head, does not foment his insurrections in a mountainous country. The land up there is ideal for my Phalanx.”
“And after you’ve seen off Jhansi, you’ll go haring after those damned racters north of him? Yes, well, they all deserve to be made to see the error of their ways.”
The papers before me now detailed the condition of the canal narrow boats I had ordered collected. From the famous canals of Vallia the vener were trudging in, hauling their boats, answering the call. The basins and pools of the capital were filling with the brilliantly painted boats. I needed a fleet, and the canalfolk, always proud and independent and disdainfully removed from the petty party politics of the island empire, had decided that for the sake of peace and prosperity and the movement of trade their star must be linked with the new emperor in Vondium. I was happy about that. I had good friends among the canalfolk. And they would be invaluable in the coming struggles.
The future loomed dark and ominous — as so often it does on Kregen, by Zair — and everyone who would stand with us and strike a blow for freedom, in the cant phrase, was welcome. I say “in the cant phrase.” But for the colossal task facing us more than cant would be needed. If we were to cleanse all Vallia, and the island was frighteningly large with many areas still virtually unpopulated, we must seek to make allies of all whom we could and only in the last resort take up arms against them. This was a view not highly regarded, I knew. But the new Dray Prescot saw the wisdom of it, even if my other persona, that wild leem Jak the Drang, was toughly contemptuous of shilly-shallying. As though Jak the Drang flared up in me I pushed the papers away pettishly and stood up.
“By Vox! I need some fresh air.”
Crossing to the arms rack I took down a solid leather belt with a fine rapier and main gauche already scabbarded, the lockets of plain bronze. The weapons were workmanlike, nothing fancy, with silver-wire wound hilts. A matched pair, they were balanced to perfection. Belting the gear on I half-turned to speak to Nath and saw a shadow move against the map. No shadow could be thrown there by the light from the window.
Nath leaped back and the slender dagger appeared in his fist. His face looked stricken.
“Daggers are useless here, Nath,” I said, on a breath, quickly. “I think.”
The shadow writhed and thickened and flowed, and smoked coiling into the semblance of a man, a hunched man in a black cowl, the hood drawn forward so that only the deep furnace-glow of feral eyes showed, demoniac, peering.
Nath shuddered, a deep hollow revulsion of flesh. The dagger shook. The thought flamed into my mind: “Thank Zair I had not marked the map with my intentions!”
The projected image of the sorcerer wavered, as though his powers fought to coalesce his immaterial substance within the imperial palace. The whole structure had been sealed by my own Wizard of Loh, Khe-Hi- Bjanching, against such lupal projections; but that had been some time ago. The sealings must be weakening with the passage of time. And Bjanching, along with my other old friends, had been hurled back to his home by the mightier sorcerous powers of Vanti, the guardian of the Sacred Pool of Baptism in far Aphrasoe.
We needed sorcerous help here. But Nath Nazabhan after that first stricken reaction responded as a warrior responds. A streak of light hurtled across the room. The dagger glittered as it flew from his hand. Straight through that insubstantial image it whisked, to clang and chime against the map, gouging out a chunk of Falinur, and so drop harmlessly to the floor.
“Devil’s work!” burst out Nath, moving back, going for the arms rack, his fist already raking out for a fresh weapon.
“That will do no good.” I stood quietly, feeling the blood in my veins, wondering what Phu-Si-Yantong intended now.
For, quite clearly, this lupal projection was Yantong. An evil emanation, certainly, and a dangerous one. He spied on us and he didn’t give a single block of ice from Sicce if we knew or not. The ruby eyes within the enveloping hood would strike a cold chill into the stoutest heart. Narrowly I surveyed this sorcerous apparition of a hated enemy. A cripple — that was the part Yantong had played during the only time I had met him. And it had not been face to face. Always, he kept himself hidden, shrouded. Perhaps he was in very truth a cripple. Maybe that might explain his crippled ambitions. The shadowy form moved of and within itself, as smoke coils upwards. The colors of the map showed through the image, fragmentarily, their brilliance dimmed.
As always and with everyone, I attempt to see the best side. Always, the remembrance of the frog and the scorpion is with me, that a man no less than a scorpion must act to his nature. But, also, I do not forget that a man can judge the consequences, and although he might not fully comprehend all that will follow, must by the very nature of manhood understand that his actions will inevitably be followed by results. Yantong could not, I thought, be all evil. There had to be some streak of better feeling in him. So I looked at the hunched shadowed shape and I pondered.
Nath remained transfixed by the arms rack, held there, I fancied, no less by my words than by the apparition.
For six heartbeats Phu-Si-Yantong’s lupal projection hovered in the room. I know, for I counted. The spell broke as a trumpet pealed outside, high clarion notes against the blue. The outlines of the figure shimmered as though bathed in invisible heat. The hooded head turned. The glitter from those ruby eyes dimmed, sparking feebly, paled. As the form vanished, the last of it to disappear was that pair of demoniac eyes.
I let out a breath.
Nath wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.
For a space neither of us spoke. We did not care to break the spiderweb of silence that fell after those silver trumpet notes.
Then I said, “By Vox! May Opaz rot the fellow. At least, he got nothing out of us.”
A fraction unsteadily, Nath walked across to retrieve his dagger. He gestured with the blade.
“Falinur will never be the same.”
I warmed to him. The experience through which he had just been would have left many a man gibbering.
“Seg wouldn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.”
“As to Seg Segutorio, the Kov of Falinur,” said Nath, re-sheathing the dagger with a snick. “I know he was a blade comrade of yours; but he is peskily absent from his kovnate when we need all the friends we can muster.”
