A Life for Kregen

would be affronted by the sloth of this army.”

Her bitter anger had been partly mollified by her success in recovering her property, and my words finally brought her thoughts back into some kind of coherence. “You know Menaham?”

“I have fought the Bloody Menahem before. They are one people of Pandahem we will have trouble with in the future-”

“One! All of the rasts in that Opaz-forsaken island.”

“I do not think so.”

“You think because this army is a farce they are all like this?”

We passed beyond a smoke pall from burning forage and the Maiden with the Many Smiles shone out, plunging between cloud wrack, the moon shedding down her fuzzy pink light upon scenes of desolation and death. We saw zorcas moving and headed that way, ready.

“No. There is something almighty strange about this little lot-”

“Of course. They are the dregs of the gutters and the Wharves, dressed up as soldiers. The Chulik paktuns they have engaged as drill instructors left en masse, disgusted. There are no Pachaks and a few Khibils in this sorry army. Pandahem breathed easier when these cramphs were shipped out.”

These words gave me serious concern — more than concern, an all panic stations alarm. I saw it — not all of it, but a deal of it and the core of it. The plan against Vallia… This army was the decoy, a rabble dressed up in fine fancy uniforms and taught to march together and then let loose into Vallia. They were expendable. They had been provided with a cavalry screen composed of men who had once been soldiers and who had been told off for this duty probably for dire misdeeds, or indiscipline or some fault. There are always these men who take the letter of Vikatu the Dodger and fail to see the spirit of that archetypal old sweat of the armies of mythology. That explained the conduct of the patrol we had ambushed. It explained why the army was as it was. But it did not do one very vital and overmasteringly fearful thing.

This knowledge newly given into my hands did not tell me where the real armies were, where the blow aimed to destroy us all would be struck at Vallia.

Chapter Nine

The Whip and the Claw

Jilian kept singing snatches of a silly little song as we jogged along in the suns shine the next day. We had all the world to ourselves, it seemed. The sky stretched emptily and the unending grassland was studded only with small trees and bushes, a wide heath that was, in truth, deceptive, for it extended merely between towns here in eastern Thadelm. The song concerned the comical efforts of a little Och maiden and a strapping young Tlochu youth to sort out the twelve limbs they possessed between them. I found Jilian’s song silly but enchanting. It is called The Conundrum of the Hyrshiv. The eventual solution the Och girl and the Tlochu boy worked out for themselves is ironical and funny; it is touching and true, though, for it illustrates that despite difficulties love, what is sometimes ludicrously called “True Love,” will find a way around problems of this physical kind.

She broke off singing and with that graceful turn of her head looked across at me and said, “You could, at least, Jak the Drang, Jikai, have found us zorcas.”

Her use of Jikai here was entirely sarcastic.

We rode hirvels. Now the hirvel is a perfectly good saddle animal. He is a stubby, four-legged beast looking not unlike a nightmare version of a llama with his tall round neck, cup-shaped ears and shaggy body and twitching snout. But he will carry you along if not as fleetly as a zorca or as powerfully as a nikvove in some comfort and despatch.

I said, “There has been enough killing for one night.”

“Deaths don’t frighten me.”

“I saw that. Can you tell me where you were trained?”

By my phraseology she understood that I was circumspect about the sororities. She laughed.

“There is no secret about where, Jak. That was at Lancival. Oh, a wonderful place, all red roofs and ivied walls and the gentle cooing of doves and the sliding gleam from the water well, that is a long time ago now.” She sighed and her laughter died. I judged that to a man with a thousand years of life, as I had awaiting me, her memory of a long time ago might seem as yesterday. Or not, given the terrors and the pains of the intervening period. She flashed her eyes at me. “But as to how, that you may ask and never get an answer.”

“I do not think I would choose to ask.”

“And you?”

“Here and there about the world-”

“Oh, really, Jak! If we are to be friends, as I sincerely hope, you must do better than that.”

“You would wish to be friends with me?”

Her regard on me wavered and she looked away. She shivered. “Better a friend than an enemy.”

“Well,” I said, trying not to be offended. “And I think if we are to be friends you must do better than that.”

“Mayhap I do not wish to be — friends.”

“As to that, we must let Opaz guide us.”

“Yes.”

“So how was it you were slave with the Pandaheem?”

Her face flushed up again in remembered terror and anguish, and, too, recollected anger.

“I served the Sisters well. At least, I think I did. I have some skill. But when the Troubles fell on Vallia, flutsmen came and I was taken. They dropped from the air like stones. We fought but were overborne. They are not — not nice, flutsmen.”

“Most, not all,” I agreed, equably. “And this Kov Colun?”

“I will say nothing of him save that I shall sink my talons into him, and rip him, and may then, if it pleases me, kill him.”

I nodded and the conversation died for a space.

After a time as we rode along and the motion of the hirvels jolted our livers, we regained a more pleasant atmosphere and she told me she was one of six children born to a shopkeeper in Frelensmot. He had been a happy, jolly man, and just rich enough to buy three slaves for the shop, which was, she said with a funny little toss of the head, a Banje store, a place where you could buy candy and sweets and toffee-apples and miscils and all manner of toothsome, mouthwatering trifles. But the shop fell on evil days and her father spilled a vat of boiling treacle on his foot and it never healed and that broke him. She herself was sent at first to the Little Sisters of Opaz, where she learned a great deal of how to be demure and polite and sew a fine stitch. Later she went — and here she hauled herself up in her tale, and regarded me with those eyes of hers slanting on me with the telltale surprise for herself that she had said so much.

“When I went to Lancival I learned what to do with a length of steel somewhat longer than a sewing needle.”

She laughed. “And I learned other things, also, and one day Kov Colun will find out how I can rip him up in a twinkling.”

Her hand reached back and stroked down the polished balass of the box. A sensuousness in the gesture reminded me of the way a great cat will turn her head and rub a paw down past her ear. Then Jilian laughed again, her head thrown back and the long line of her throat bared and free to the breeze.

“And you are just Jilian?”

“For you, Jak, just Jilian.”

“I see.” Well, it was no business of mine. Although she wouldn’t understand, I did not think we would go up the hill to fetch a pail of water together.

We would have to avoid habitations until we reached Vond, and any other riders we encountered would