below rushed up toward us as the flier dropped, and we saw the men waving below, waiting for us.
We were in enemy territory here. That was a foul note, to be sure. Enemy territory, in Falinur, one of the heartlands of Vallia!
Almost, we got through unobserved. Almost…
As we skimmed for the stone ramparts a volley of arrows whisked up toward us. Campfires burned in a circle about the fortress of the Stony Korf. A few shafts punched into the flier; but no one was hit. Varter bolts lanced the dusky air. We even saw two catapult stones come arching up, like balls tossed high in sport, and curve over and so fall away. But the arrows persisted. Seg perked up, taking a professional interest.
“Undurkers,” said Seg. The fascinating information in his comment was the comparative lack of contempt. I wondered what scrapes he’d pulled out of since we’d parted that might have given him this new outlook. Certainly, he was scathing enough about the short bow, as was I. “Undurkers. Well, my old dom, we’ve seen them off before.”
“And will again, despite that we have no Bowmen of Loh with us, save yourself.”
He did not laugh. The voller whooshed air over the crumbled stone battlements and circled once, losing speed, before dropping to a mossy patch of stone at the center of the tower. That was just about all this place was, a tower. Seg said, quietly, as the besieged folk came up: “You may not be a Bowman of Loh; but you’d give most of them a run for their money.”
Well, of course, from Seg Segutorio, that was high praise.
Then we were exchanging Lahals and jumping from the flier and I was being led off to where Barty sat under a canvas awning, looking most disgruntled, with an arrow-wound in his shoulder. The people clustered around, their bearded grimy faces reflecting villainously in the torchlights. They were smiling a little, now, thinking rescue had reached them. The scene was like a witch’s coven. Barty waved a hand.
“The emperor and I would speak in private.” He had not risen to greet me — and the reason for that was plain enough. His people backed off. My own desperadoes were busily engaged in estimating the defenses and getting an idea of the enemy out there in the darkness that shut down with the last of the suns. It was not a night of Notor Zan; but for a space the star glitter and two of Kregen’s smaller moons gave the impression of a night darker than it really was. Seg stood at my shoulder. Barty looked up. His face looked odd; his usual high color had fled; but his pallor was made more leaden by the red stains under the skin, high on each cheekbone. He looked at Seg.
“I said the emperor and I would be alone.”
Seg did not move.
I said, “Seg, this handsome young man who has fallen so low is Barty Vessler, the Strom of Calimbrev. And, Barty, you have the honor and pleasure of meeting Seg Segutorio, the Kov of Falinur.”
Barty opened his mouth, shut his mouth, extended his hand as the pappattu was made. My new friends had said harsh words about Falinur and its kov. But, as always, I could not be harsh on Barty. So I added, casually, “Seg is with us in this.” Here I had to trip daintily around certain subjects. “He is aware of the problem and-”
“Oh, them,” said Seg. “My girl Silda wanted to go off and be some kind of Jikai Vuvushi. But Thelda didn’t like the idea and I had to bring Silda home.” He glanced at me, and, amazingly, laughed. “She is not at all pleased that Drak has gone off adventuring in Faol.”
So ho, I said to myself, so the weathervane spins that way, does it…?
Barty’s news was both stimulating and depressing. Dayra had most certainly been seen and then the local gang of mercenaries who held the district for Layco Jhansi had mewed him and his men up here, together with the local Freedom Fighters. And, one of these, the guerilla chief, was in a right state over his wife. I said: “Dayra first. Then the others, all of them, as many as we can contrive.”
“I agree. But Dayra isn’t with this bunch of cramphs trying to burn us out.” His words were not idle. Every now and then a varter bolt tied with burning flax would arch up and over and fall into the tower. Sand was flung in strewed winnowed falls to quench the flames.
“Well, young Barty! Where the hell is she, then?”
At this he spread his hands helplessly, and winced, and looked more gray and drawn than I liked.
“My spies got wind of what she came for. That kleesh Zankov has been thoroughly rejected by the Northeast Parties, and so he is seeking an alliance with Jhansi.”
Seg ran a hand along his longbow. “It will be interesting to meet this Zankov.”
“But now,” I said. “Right now!”
“Majister,” said Barty, and his voice shook. “I do not know.”
“These cramphs are getting troublesome,” said Seg, brushing sparks away as a blazing bolt hit and bounced near us.
“Where was she last seen, Barty?”
“Trakon’s Pillars. Jhansi was supposed to be meeting her at a summer villa the old kov had there.”
“Him,” said Seg, and sniffed. “I’d as lief Naghan Furtway had his Opaz-forsaken kovnate back again.”
“You know the place, Seg?”
“Yes. Damned degenerate pest hole. Furtway was a great Jikaida player — you know that, Dray -
and the whole place was built like a Jikaida board. Most odd. And devilish, too. I can take you there. But our friends outside grow impatient.”
A few words soon showed that the mercenaries outside the tower had been reinforced after Hikdar Douron had left for Vondium. We had brought men, yes; but had we brought enough to break through the ring? Barty was all for getting up and bashing on. There were saddle animals stabled in the lower floors. But the Jiktar who ran his guards, a man who could have sat for a portrait to represent the professional, life-time fighting man, shook his head.
“In my view we are still too few,” said Jiktar Noronfer.
“Um,” said Seg.
“We must break out!”
Barty sank back on the blankets. He looked in bad case.
Then Jiktar Noronfer, with the infuriating ability of the professional to state a situation as though it was not a matter of life and death affecting him no less than anyone else, said: “They will break in before the flier can return to Vondium for help.”
Another iron-headed bolt arched over the ancient stone battlements and hit, bouncing. The flames from the tar and bitumen-soaked flax blazed up. The brand skated across the stones straight for us like a comet on a collision course.
Barty let out a feeble yell. Jiktar Noronfer dived out of the way. The caroming bolt leaped, like a fractious zorca, spat sparks, sizzling with a noise like a cage full of serpents. It roared directly at us. I leaped for Barty. Seg — the infernal idiot! — seized up Noronfer’s dropped spear and swung toward the blazing brand. Even as I got Barty up and scrambled him out of the way so Seg with a beautifully lithe skip and jump got the spear point under the iron head of the bolt and heaved. Then he, too, jumped for safety. His cloak was alight. He landed and rolled and I put Barty down as gently as I could contrive and as the flaming bolt reared up and spilled over the stones at our back I leaped on Seg. With my bare hands I batted at the flames and got his cloak ripped off and tossed aside. I was not burned, thank Zair
— well, not much, not enough to notice.
Seg sat up.
“Thanks, my old dom. We’ve enough light as it is without using me as a living torch.”
“You maniacal Erthyr nitwit! Why didn’t you jump out of the way?”
“Never thought you’d get the youngster out of it in time. You were damned quick.”
“Not as quick as you, you-”
Seg’s face drew in with pain. His eyes misted. Torchlight hung shadows along his jaw and his cheeks hollowed.
“Get that tunic off! And the kax! Your wound, when you were slave-”
“Aye, Dray, aye. It’s plaguing me, devil take it.”
Seg’s wound had opened and the bloody mess made me go cold. Barty’s needleman was summoned and we kept everyone else away and I made up my mind.
I made up my mind not as the Emperor of Vallia, not as Dayra’s father, not as a friend to young Barty. I made
