Conqueror

most part, with cropped black hair and incurious clean-shaven faces. Individually they didn't look particularly impressive. Together they had shaken the earth and beaten nations into dust.

The Captain drew closer, courteously pointing out features: De Roors was uneasily aware that the hook flashing past his face was sharpened on the inner edge.

'Each battalion has a set place, the same in every camp. There are the officer's tents-' somewhat larger than the men's '-and the shrine for the unit colors. This is the wia erente, the east-west road; the wia sehcond runs north-south, and they meet in the center of camp, at the plaza commanante, with the general's quarters and the Star church tent. Over there's the artillery park, the dog lines-' a thunder of belling and barking announced feeding time '-the area for the camp followers and soldiers' servants, the-'

De Roors' mind knew the Brigade's armies were vastly more numerous. His emotions told him there was no end to this hive of activity. Men marching or riding filled the streets, traffic keeping neatly to the left and directed at each crossroads by soldiers wearing armbands marked guardia. Wagon trains, supply convoys, officers riding by with preoccupied expressions, somewhere the sound of hundreds of men hammering wood.

The commander's tent was large but not the vast pavilion he expected; the canvas church across the open space from it was much bigger, and so was the hospital tent on the other side of the square.

His escort split and formed two lines, facing in. The guard at the door of the tent presented arms to Foley's salute, and the young officer dismounted and stood at parade rest beside the opened door flap.

'The Heneralissimo Supremo; Sword-Bearing Guard to the Sovereign Mighty Lord and Sole Autocrat Governor Barholm Clerett; possessor of the proconsular authority for the Western Territories; three times hailed Savior of the State, Sword of the Spirit of Man, Raj Ammenda Halgren da Luis Whitehall!' he called formally, in a crisp clear voice. Then:

'The Alcalle of Lion City, Messer Filipe De Roors.' A murmur from within. 'You may enter, Messer.'

De Roors was dimly conscious of his entourage being gracefully led away. The tented room within was lit by skylights above; there was a long table and chairs, and a map-board with an overhead view of Lion City. Nothing of the splendor that a high Brigade noble would take on campaign, nothing of what was surely available to the conqueror of the Southern Territories. Nothing but a short forged-steel mace inlaid with platinum and electrum, resting on a crimson cushion. Symbol of the rarely granted proconsular authority, the power to act as vice-governor in the barbaricum.

The man sitting at the middle of the table opposite him seemed fairly ordinary at first; certainly his uniform was nothing spectacular, despite the eighteen-rayed silver and gold star on either shoulder, orbited by smaller silver stars and enclosed in a gold band. A tall man, broad in the shoulders and narrow-hipped, with a swordsman's thick shoulders and wrists. A hard dark face with startling gray eyes, curly bowl-cut black hair speckled with a few flecks of silver. Looking older than the young hero of legend-and less menacing than the merciless aggressor the Squadron refugees and Colonist merchants had described.

Then he saw the eyes, and the stories about Port Murchison seemed very real.

You've met hard men before, de Roors told himself. And bargained them into the ground. He bowed deeply. 'Most Excellent General,' he said.

* * *

This one could sell lice to Skinners, Raj thought a few minutes later. A digest of Lion City's internal organization, constitutional position in the Western Territories, and behavior in previous conflicts rolled on, spiced with fulsome praise, references to common religious faith, and earnest good wishes to the Civil Government of Holy Federation.

'Messer, shut up,' he said quietly.

De Roors froze. He was plump, middle-aged and soft-looking and expensively dressed, a five-hundred- FedCred stickpin in his lace cravat. Raj didn't think the man was consciously afraid of death, not after coming in under a flag of truce and guarantee of safe-conduct. He knew the impact his own personality had, however, and that it was magnified in the center of so much obvious power. Yet de Roors was still bargaining hard. There were more types of courage than those required to face physical danger, and they were rather less common.

'Contrary to what you may have heard, messer, not everyone in the Gubernio Civil is in love with rhetoric. I'll put it very simply: Lion City must open its gates and cooperate fully with the army of the Civil Government. If you do, I'll not only guarantee the lives and property of the civilian residents; Lion City will be freed from external tax levies for five years-and you'll get a fifty-percent reduction in harbor dues and charges at East Residence.'

He leaned forward slightly. 'If you don't. . they call me the Sword of the Spirit, messer alcalle, but I'm not the Spirit Itself. If my troops have to fight their way in, they're going to get out of hand-soldiers always do, in a town taken by storm.' De Roors blanched; a sack was any townsman's worst nightmare. 'Furthermore, in that case I'll have to confiscate heavily for the customary donative to the men. Those aren't threats, they're analysis.

'Messer, I want Lion City to surrender peacefully, because I'd prefer to have a functioning port under my control in the Crown. I will have the city, one way or another.'

De Roors mopped his face. There was a moment's silence outside as a gong tolled, and then the chanting of the morning Star Service. Raj touched his amulet but waited impassively.

'Heneralissimo supremo, I can't make such a decision on my own initiative.' At Raj's blank lack of expression he stiffened slightly. 'This isn't the east, Excellency, and I'm not an autocrat-and the General of the Brigade couldn't make a decision like that by himself.

'And there's the garrison to consider. Usually we have a few hundred regular troops here, enough to, ah-'

Raj nodded. Keep the city from getting ideas. Free merchant towns were common on some of the islands of the Midworld. A garrison reminded the impetuous that Lion City was on the mainland and accessible to the General's armies.

'After the news of Stern Isle came through, the General sent three regiments from Old Residence, more than thirty-five hundred men of his standing troops under High Colonel Piter Strezman. A famous commander with veteran troops. They won't surrender.'

'Quite a few Brigaderos around here have,' Raj pointed out.

'They weren't behind strong walls with a year's supplies, your Excellency,' de Roors said. 'Furthermore, their families weren't in Old Residence standing hostage for them.'

What a splendid way to build fighting morale, Raj thought. I'll bet it was Forker came up with that idea; he's had too much contact with us and went straight from barbarism to decadence without passing through civilization.

'As you say, this isn't the east,' he said dryly. De Roors flushed, and Raj continued: 'Let's put it this way: you open the gates, and we'll take care of the garrison.'

De Roors coughed into his handkerchief. Raj raised a finger; one of the HQ servants slid in, deposited a carafe of water, and departed with the same smooth silence.

'That might be possible, yes,' de Roors said. He drank and wiped his mouth again. 'The problem with that, Excellency, is, ummm, you understand that we're not encouraged to meddle in military matters, and-might I suggest that Lion City is of no real importance in itself? If you were to pass on, and either defeat the main Brigade armies, or take Old Residence, we'd be delighted to cooperate with you in a most positive way, most positive, you'd have no cause to complain of our loyalty then. Until then, well, it really would be imprudent of us to-'

Raj grinned. De Roors flinched slightly and averted his eyes.

'You mean,' Raj said, his words hard and cold as the forged iron of a cannon's barrel, 'that if you open the gates and we lose the war later, the Brigade will slaughter you down to the babes in arms. Quite true. Look at me, messer.'

Reluctantly, de Roors' eyes dragged around again. Raj went on:

'I and my men can't hedge our bets, messer alcalle; neither can the Brigaderos, and neither of us will let you hedge, either, and thereby encourage every village with a