Warlord

corpse-cart was backed to the edge.

'And I hope you can persuade your brother to do likewise,' Raj went on, in the same emotionless voice.

Curtis Auburn shook himself; on the third try his voice functioned roughly.

'Ah, I'm sure, recognition of the Civil Government's suzerainty-' he began.

Suddenly Raj reached out and grabbed the Squadron leader by the knotted braids on the side of his head.

'Look, Auburn!' he shouted, his voice a shocking roar. He forced the other man's head around effortlessly, despite the bull neck's resistance. A cart piled high with bodies tipped and slid two-score more into the waiting serrated beaks. 'Look at that!'

The Grand Captain of the Squadron wrenched his head away and buried his head in his hands. Raj waited, lighting a cigarette and turning his eyes away.

'Don't try to bargain with me, Auburn,' he went on, when the other man was calmer; his own voice had the metallic flatness back. 'I beat Conner, I beat your Admiral Charles, and now I've beaten you. We've lost less than a battalion, and killed half the fighting men in your entire nation. Once might have been luck, twice a mistake-three times is the Voice of Heaven, man!'

He offered a cigarette, and a light when Auburn's hands shook. Not fear, not really, he decided. Shock. Curtis Auburn's entire world had vanished in an afternoon; this morning he'd been a ruler of a century-old kingdom, leading home a powerful army. Three hours later, the army was downdragger food-and he was a rightless prisoner.

'What do you intend for my men-for your prisoners?' he said quietly.

'Well, under the laws and customs of war, they're mine to do with as I please,' Raj said grimly. Quite true; he could execute, enslave, or ransom them-and their families-as he pleased or his ruler instructed. Auburn would be remembering what his ancestors did to the Civil Government prisoners from the last expedition, blinded and castrated en masse. Raj let the silence stretch for a moment

'But Governor Barholm has decreed as much mercy as possible,' he went on.

'Only those who refused to surrender when summoned on the march north will be enslaved.' Several thousand, and a profitable object-lesson. 'And any among the prisoners who refuse to swear allegiance, of course. Those who do swear will be formed into military units under Civil Government officers, and sent back to East Residence for retraining and deployment to the eastern frontier. All their property here is forfeit, of course-only those who came in voluntarily will keep their lands-but they'll have their families, and if they give good and loyal service, they can expect to rise in the hierarchy of Earth's proper government.'

He leaned forward and caught Curtis's eyes. 'If your brother comes in and makes unconditional submission, you and he can take your households with you; you'll be granted estates near East Residence'-carefully watched, of course-'and Charles's followers will get terms at least as good as those yours do. Failing immediate surrender, tell him he can run but he can't hide; I will send every living Squadron man, woman, and child to hell or the auction block and I will send Charles Auburn's head to the Governor packed in salt. By the living Spirit of Man, I swear it.'

'Are you a man or a demon?' Curtis asked hoarsely.

'I am the Sword of the Spirit of Man,' he said, with the conviction of absolute belief. 'Now get out-and tell your Admiral what you've seen. Tell him everything.'

* * *

'Well, a great victory, yes,' Administrator Berg said. His eyes were carefully unfocused as they rode back toward the Palace; he seemed to be trying to avoid seeing either the man beside him or the world around. Raj handed him a clean handkerchief, and he accepted it gratefully. 'We've been. . very fortunate, yes, the Spirit has favored us.'

'Oh yes, not with luck,' Raj said calmly. Berg jumped a little at the normality of the tone. 'The enemy made every mistake they could. .' He paused to return the salute of a detail marching back to quarters. 'And with men like these behind me, if they hadn't screwed up we'd have won anyway.'

Chapter Sixteen

'It's him,' Muzzaf said, bowing beside the Vice Governor's chair. 'All the most important lords are with him, Messer Raj; but. .'

Raj sat calmly, his hand on the Mace. The audience hall of the Palace was not nearly as crowded as it had been for the assumption of power, leaving plenty of room for the Squadron nobles-soon to be ex-nobles-who would be brought in to swear submission with their leader. Much of the rest of the room was piled with captured Squadron battle-flags, and not even the thick incense from the priest's censors could entirely hide the smell of the rotting blood many of them were soaked with. The Admiral and his retinue had also been routed past the mass graves. . and the soldiers and their weapons lining the whole route in from the gates and up to the Chair were also an exercise in education.

There was no point in being subtle with barbarians, not if you wanted to be clearly understood. Sometimes he thought that applied to most civilized men as well.

'Yes?' he murmured to the Komarite.

'Ah. . the Admiral is, shall we say, not entirely well. Functional, but not well.'

Raj nodded; there were rumors about hereditary instability in the Auburn family-and Spirit knew the man had had enough shocks of late. The Companions glanced at each other a little uneasily, and there was a ripple of comment through the civil dignitaries below the dais at the exchange they could see but not hear.

'Don't worry, my friends,' he said quietly, smiling. It had been three days since the battle, and they were all thoroughly relieved that there wasn't going to be another. 'Charles Auburn can be a raving lunatic for the rest of his life, as long as he sings out loud and clear today. How's the loading going, Gerrin?'

'Right on schedule,' the older man said, in the same low murmur. 'We should be able to get ten thousand Squadrones to East Residence in the first wave, without overcrowding. With the cadre of Regulars they'll need; they can start their training as soon as they're sworn in, and continue it as they march east.'

There were rumors that Ali had consolidated his position and was looking for revenge for the death and defeat of his father Jamal. Not to mention a victory that would rally his emirs.

'Ali may get a surprise,' Raj nodded.

The noise through the great open bronze doors became a swelling roar. The troopers at the door snapped from at ease to attention, and the motion rippled down the silent ranks lining the red-carpeted corridor with the smooth regularity of falling dominoes. Halfway down the corridor was a structure of spears lashed together, forming an arch about chest-high. Charles Auburn checked slightly as he saw it, checked again with a grimace of hatred as he saw Karl and Ludwig Bellamy standing in places of honor at the foot of the dais. Then he came on, with the defeated lords behind him; they all bowed their sackcloth-covered shoulders to pass under the spears.

Then Auburn was grinning as he reached the first of the stairs. Raj's foot was resting on the staff of the last Squadron banner, the ancient flag of Admiral Ricks, taken from the great Temple now restored to the Holy Federation Church after one hundred and twenty years. The faded gold silk spilled down almost to the last Admiral's feet, and he bent to finger it.

'Vanity!' he cackled, looking up. Raj felt a slight chill; there was something inhuman there. 'It's all vanity. . I was vain with flags, now you are-vanity, vanity, all vanity!'

Curtis Auburn nudged his brother sharply, and the glaze left his eyes. He dropped clumsily to his knees, and the others behind him; Charles drew his sword and unloaded pistol, laying them down. Officers bore them up to the Chair and laid them at Raj's feet, and the trumpeters behind blew a fanfare. All the spectators cheered, as the Auburns and their followers were led away.

'Messer general,' a voice said at Raj's ear. He looked around, and felt a small cold shock at the expression on Barton Foley's face.

'Yes?'

'There's a courier from East Residence, sir. From the Palace; it's Colonel Osterville.'

One of Barholm's Guards; as Raj was himself, technically. A jack-of-all-trades, specializing in discreet