Warlord

paddies of the delta behind, but the turned earth showed black and spongy between rows of young maize, and irrigation canals laced the landscape until it disappeared in the haze along the horizon. The wheat was just starting to head out, streaks of gold among the green, orchards in full leaf; sharecropper shacks were scattered across the fields, occasionally clumping into a hamlet with the spire and Star of a chapel at its center. Now and then a manor, although most landowners hereabouts would live in the city for all but a few months of the year.

'Right, sergeant, get a squad up here. We'll push-' 'My lord, I'm under contract to the Church!' Raj touched his amulet. Oh. Now that he looked, the guards had Star emblems pinned to their shoulders, and they were the real electrum the Church issued to its secular servants, not brass. The 2nd's Master Sergeant sighed in vexation and let his sword slip back into the scabbard, the handspan of bright metal dropping into the lapwing-oil greased leather and wood with a slight shhhhp sound. This did put a different complexion on things. Sinful to offend the church, and stupid as well; the Governor was the Spirit's Viceregent on Earth, but. . Raj cursed under his breath and unfastened his helmet; the mild damp breeze was a little chill on the sweat-dampened curls of his dark hair. It was from the south, smelling of turned earth and growing things, a wet fecund smell.

'It's for the New Temple, m'lord,' the driver said eagerly. 'The Vice-Governor hisself's in charge; a great work to the glory of the Spirit, it'll be!'

and to the glory of barholm.

The Spirit operates through human instruments, Raj thought tartly. It was widely known that the Vice-Governor had employed Abel Yunner, a heretic Earth-Spiritist from the Old Residence, as architect. 'His soul may go to the Outer Dark, but his designs will honor the Spirit of Man of the Stars,' Barholm had said.

exactly. human instruments such as yourself.

Raj felt himself flush with embarrassment, then wrenched his attention back to the practical problem at hand. The thought of himself as an Avatar, one in whom the Spirit in-dwelt, was profoundly disturbing. . and seemed to be literally true.

'What's in that first wagon?' he said, pointing.

'Why, coal, your lordship.'

Raj looked at the side of the road, the meter-deep ditch, the long slope down to the edge of the cornfield. Less than fifty meters beyond that to a row of poplars along a canal. 'How much do those wagons with the nairstone weigh?'

''bout two tonnes each, m'lord.'

'Hmmm.' He closed his eyes, estimating distances. There was a long length of cable coiled at the rear of the traction engine, first-quality woven-wire stuff.

'All right,' he said. 'Now, here's what we'll do. Sergeant, get. .' he looked back down the column. 'Oh, three twelve-ox teams from the baggage. Driver, uncouple the engine and pull the coal- wagon over there.' He pointed to the right side of the road. 'We'll tip it over-'

'M'lord!' Almost a bleat.

'— to form a ramp. Then we'll run that cable out to those poplars, rig that nice block-and-tackle I see you've got to one of them. . better make that two, use a Y brace. . and run the wagons one by one down the embankment.'

'They'll bog, m'lord, right to the axles.'

'Not if we use the cable to haul them out of the way. Then we run the traction engine down'-the driver's eyes bulged-'and all the Church's property is nice and safe, as soon as they want to come out here with equipment to dig it out.'

'M'lord, the Reverend Sysup will skin me, and the damage to the fields, m'lord-'

'Sergeant, squad-present, if you please,' Raj said.

The NCO's expression changed from one of blank disinterest to anticipation.

'Squad, saddle-fire, present!' he barked.

The color-party were troopers of the 2nd without enough money or influence to travel by carriage, street toughs from the capital; they looked sullenly out of place even this far into the countryside, and their white field uniforms were already soiled. There was absolutely nothing wrong with their basic drill, however. Their hands snapped down to the scabbards before their right knees in one movement, gripped the butts of government issue East Residence Armory rifles in the next, then flipped them up and out. The rein-hands slapped on the forestocks in unison, and the thumbs of the right hands caught in the trigger-guard levers. There was an oiled metallic snick as the bolts swung forward and down, leaving a grooved ramp on top to guide the shell into the breech.

Slap and the hands struck the bandoliers. A clicking rustle as they undid the clasps and brought their hands out with a paper-and-brass cartridge: click as thumbs pushed the heavy 11mm rounds into the breech: snick as the levers drove them home and cocked the firing pins.

'Aim!'

The muzzles came up unwaveringly on the driver. He paled and began to shake. Some of the guards looked irresolute for a moment, then toed their dogs to the side.

'Certainly m'lord, at once!' the driver said. The confrontation dissolved into bustle.

'Where's Captain Stanson?' Raj asked, as he and the Master Sergeant rode aside to oversee.

The older man smoothed down his mustache. 'In his carriage, sor,' he said. 'With his girl, like.'

'Girl?' Raj said casually. The troopers were interpreting their instructions liberally, conscripting a few score of the sturdier locals stalled on the side of the road to unhook and push the coal wagon; well, whatever got the job done.

'Yes, sor, the boys was just fashion last yea-' The NCO spoke absently, attention focused on the group clearing the road, then brought himself up with a cough. 'Well, I wouldn't be knowing, sor.'

'Whitehall.' A bored voice, down at his stirrup. Raj looked down; Stanson stood there, smoking a cigarette in the ivory holder the Vice-Governor and his Lady had popularized. His tunic was unbuttoned, and there was a wineglass in his hand. The bottle was behind him, in the hands of a spectacularly endowed redhead; from the way she stood with one hip cocked in her slit-skirted gown, it was obvious that the red hair was as natural as her other assets. Rare coloring, even rarer than blond. 'What is going on here, my man?'

Raj showed his teeth in something approaching a smile. 'Well, we've had a little problem, but it's cleared up now.'

The squad leader handling the coal wagon had two dozen peasants and pilgrims lined up on the road side of the wagon, where it stood tilted with two wheels on the edge of the ditch.

'Right, you horrible lot,' he shrieked, booting one of them in the buttocks with a flat smacking sound. 'Push!' The heavy vehicle went over with a roar of loose coal. One by one the other wagons were manhandled to the edge of the road, dragged across the coal and down the low slope. The Gendarmerie troopers surged back, cursing and beating at the coal dust on their white uniforms.

'We wouldn't have had this problem if we'd gone up the river in barges. And we'd have gotten where we're going sooner. What's the problem, Whitehall?'

Well, you, for starters, Raj thought. Aloud: 'The men need toughening up,' though dick-all they'll get in a sprung carriage with a whore, 'and sitting on their butts in a barge isn't the way to get it,' he said mildly.

Stanson began to speak, then waited for a long mournful blast on the traction engine's whistle as it trundled over the verge, across the ditch on the bridge of coal, and into the cornfield. It began to sink into the soft uncompacted earth immediately. When the noise level sank low enough to permit conversation, he continued:

'Are you implying my men aren't ready to fight?' Stanson asked, dangerously quiet.

Raj opened his mouth: Fight their way out of a tavern brawl, perhaps-

observe.

* * *

— Raj saw himself, that's the worst of all, seeing myself, standing across from Stanson. It was early in the morning, from the slant of the sun: tomorrow, perhaps, Miniluna was still three-quarter and a waxing crescent of Maxiluna showed just above the horizon. They stood in a meadow, ten meters apart; Raj