Empire Of Man 3 - March to the Stars (37 page)

“I don't know, but I do know that it's time to pick his benan's brain,” the Marine replied.

“Agreed.” Roger strode over to his asi's stretcher and shook his head. The contraption was swung between two turom and had to be incredibly uncomfortable, even for someone who was unwounded, he thought, just as Doc Dobrescu appeared out of the column as if summoned by magic.

“How are you doing, Your Highness?”

“Fine, I suppose. Taking my cod liver oil, and all that. How are the casualties?”

“Most of them are either gone, or out of the woods, Your Highness,” Dobrescu admitted. “St. John—Mark, that is—lost his right arm this time. An arquebus round, I think. He lost the left in Voitan, of course, just like the sergeant major. This one was low on the forearm, more lost his hand, really, and it should grow back fairly quickly. He'll be fully functional in a month or so. And we had one of the wounded Vashin expire—general systemic failure, I think.”

“And Cord?” Roger asked, gesturing at the asi. Pedi was walking beside his stretcher, straight backed and stony faced. She looked the very dictionary image of the stoic tribesman, totally disinterested in asking quarter for herself or anyone else, yet she glanced occasionally at the shaman.

“Tough to tell,” the medic admitted. “He took a solid hit, and the surgery was very rough and ready. Then there's the dosage on the anesthetic, and any secondary effects it might have, like increased bleeding. He's a tough old bird, but the emphasis on that could be on 'old.' If you know what I mean.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Roger said with a sigh. “Do whatever you can, Doc.”

“I won't ask if we could stop someplace, Sir,” Dobrescu said to Pahner as the captain walked up. “I don't want to end up as somebody's lunch.”

“You heard, I see,” Pahner observed. “Yeah. Great guys, huh?”

“Gotta love civilization,” Roger said, and gestured around. The ash had finally stopped falling, and the true expanse of the Valley of the Krath could be seen, opening out in a vast panorama before them.

The valley itself was at least a hundred kilometers wide, a broad U-shaped cut through the midst of rugged mountains, some of them rearing to well over five thousand meters. The Krath ran down its middle, a broad, silt-laden stream that fed and watered the valley via the repeated canals that ran up towards the flanking mountains.

The valley's floor and walls, though, were what caught the eye. As far as the eye could see, the valley was a patchwork of irrigation canals and tended fields. It was so intensively cultivated that not one square meter of land appeared to be unused. The majority of the houses, and all of the towns, were on the steep slopes of the mountains to leave every flat patch for cultivation, and each and every one was surrounded by growing greenery, most of it clearly edible.

The road itself followed the line where the flatter base of the valley started to climb up the mountain slopes. All of the towns they had passed had been evacuated before they arrived, leaving an eerie, unnatural feeling of ghost towns and mysterious disappearances. There was a sense of thousands, millions, of eyes watching from the distance, and there were actually a handful of visible Mardukans working in some of the more distant fields, plowing with turom or weeding rows of barleyrice and legumes.

Other than that, there wasn't a soul in sight.

The management of the valley—the regular roads, the neat villages, and the well tended canals—was arguably more frightening than the city of cannibals behind them, Roger thought. It was the visible sign of an entire country, a massive country of well-organized cannibals. After all the battles they'd fought against endless tides of barbarians on K'Vaern's Cove's continent, the thought of what “civilization” meant on this continent was horrifying.

“Civilization is either great, or truly terrible,” he said, putting his thoughts at least partially into words. “Mediocre doesn't enter into it.” He gazed out over the valley for a moment longer, then shook his head and looked over at Pedi. “Now on to the next battle,” he said.

Pahner nodded and walked around the line of turom to touch Pedi on the arm.

“Ms. Karuse, could you join us for a moment?”

Pedi looked around at the Marine, then at the medic, who shrugged.

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Dobrescu told her. “Right now, the best thing for him would be for us to stop. But that's not going to happen anytime soon.”

“Very well,” she said. She patted the covering over the shaman, then turned to Pahner and Roger as the ambulance moved on. “What can I do to help?”

“You know we're heading for the hills,” Roger said. “What can you tell us about the route?”

Pedi obviously had to stop and think about that.

“What I know is all from traders and raiders. I've never traveled the hills myself.” She paused until the prince nodded understanding of the qualification, then continued. “There's supposed to be a broad road to the town of Thirlot, where the Shin River drops through the Seisut Falls from the Vales to the valley of the Krath. There is a road up along the Shin, but it is closed by the citadel of Queicuf, and the town of Thirlot itself is walled, very heavily defended. You would have to take the gates, at least, and I don't think that's possible.”

“You might be surprised,” Roger told her. “We could probably take out the gates, but then we'd still have to fight our way through the city.”

“And we probably don't have enough forces to do that,” Pahner said. “We took the Krath in Kirsti by surprise, but fighting our way through a fully prepared town is something else.”

“You could call upon them to surrender,” the Shin said, rubbing her horns in thought. “If they refused, and you took them by storm, they would be liable for total destruction. If you created even a small breach, they would almost automatically have to surrender.”

“That's a recognized law of war?” Pahner asked. “It sounds like it.”

“Yes,” the Shin answered. “The satraps fight all the time, and they don't want to destroy the cities. So they have elaborate rules about what is and isn't permissible, and what cities should and must do. Fortifications, also, but those are considered much harder to take. But even if Thirlot surrendered, you'd also have to fight your way through the stronghold of Queicuf, and that would be much harder.”

“Two fortifications.” Pahner pulled out a piece of bisti root and cut off a slice. He slipped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then shook his head. “If this were a purely military party I could see it. But we've got a swarm of hangers-on and the human noncombatants to worry about, too. I'd really rather not risk it, under these circumstances.”

“What kind of alternative do we have?” Roger asked.

“Up the mountains,” Pedi replied, with a gesture to the east. “There's a small track that leads to the south side of the Mudh Hemh lands; it comes out near Nesru. The Krath have a curtain wall there to prevent Shin parties from taking the Shesul Pass, but the position is only lightly defended from this side.”

“So you think we could punch them out of our way?” Pahner asked.

“Having witnessed your warriors in action, I feel sure of it,” she replied. "But there are Shin raider parties on the other side of the wall, from Mudh Hemh and elsewhere. Those from Mudh Hemh, I can talk out of attacking us, if they announce their presence in advance. Those from other Vales might or might not recognize my authority, and there are other hazards. The route is lightly used, so it hasn't been cleared of nashul and ralthak.

“And what,” Roger asked, “are nashul and ralthak?”

“Nashul are . . . burrower-beasts. They look like rock and attack by surprise. Very large, very hard to kill. Ralthak are fliers, very large. They both eat the high-turom, the tar.”

“And if we take the route by the Shin?” Pahner asked.

“We will be headed directly to the Vale of Mudh Hemh,” Pedi said with a gesture equivalent to a human shrug. “We will have to pass through the Battle Lands, and I have no idea what the traders in Nesru will think of that, but they're all under the control of Mudh Hemh, more or less. We shouldn't have trouble on that route. Not from Shin, at any rate. Thirlot and Queicuf are considered impregnable, though.”

“I'm sure we could take them,” Pahner said. “If we used plasma cannon to take down the gates.”

“Not,” Roger said. “Overhead.”

“Precisely, Your Highness,” Pahner said dryly. “That was in the nature of sarcasm.”

“Oh,” the prince replied with a smile. “And there I was thinking it was a test.” He shrugged. “Whichever, the mountain route it is.”

Semmar Reg stepped out of the Place of Justice and looked up at the monster towering over him. It was a two-legged beast, with vicious talons and an obviously wicked disposition. The rider on its back, however, was even more terrifying. His weapons and accouterments were different from those of the Valley Guards—armor of leather and fine-linked mail, a lance, and a long weapon like a thin arquebus. Reg bowed low as the apparition drew up at the head of a column of similarly equipped riders and dismounted. Whatever else the stranger might be, Reg noted, he carried more pistols than anyone the mayor had ever seen.

Reg had hurried to the town hall as soon as he heard the sound of a firefight from the south. From Sran's bell-tower, he could easily see the Guard checkpoint on the Kirsti Road on a clear day. Of course, today was far from clear, despite the recent rainstorm which had washed much of the ash out of the air, and the current visibility conditions had made it difficult to make out details. But when he reached the tower's top, he saw a small amount of smoke from arquebuses and bombards still drifting around the fortification. He'd also seen this column of riders, well on its way to the town, and if they'd taken many casualties from the Guard, it wasn't apparent.

What was apparent was that a formed military unit was just about to descend upon Sran. And that hadn't happened in two hundred years.

* * *

Rastar looked around at the town and felt a distinct glow of pleasure. It climbed up the mountains at its back, with one house piled practically on top of another. On the south side, a mountain stream tumbled out of a knife-edged gorge and was gathered for use by several mills that seemed to be the main source of local income.

It was evident that at least some of the place's citizenry had once been more prosperous than they were today, for several large one-time manors had been converted into housing for workers. But if the manor houses' previous owners had fallen upon hard times, the workmen living in their homes today appeared to be doing well enough. For that matter, the entire town seemed relatively prosperous, which was good. Prosperity mattered to the humans, since they felt so very kindly towards town-living turom. Rastar, on the other hand, was Vashin. The Vashin had settled into their northern fortresses barely three generations before the Boman overran them, and the long tradition of raiding was bred into their bone and blood. It might have become somewhat muted in the last generation or so, but they certainly weren't “townies.”

Thus it was that Rastar saw the town from the uncomplicated perspective of a cavalry leader on a long march. Which was to say, as a chicken waiting to be plucked. Of course, there was no need to be impolite about it.

“Good day to you, kind Sir,” the former Prince of Therdan said in truly vilely accented Krath with a gesture of greeting. “It's lucky for you I got here first!”

* * *

Reg bowed again, nervously.

“It is a great honor to meet you . . . ?” he said.

“Rastar Komas,” the armored stranger supplied. Or, at least, that was what Reg thought he said. Between the outlandish name and the even worse accent, it was very difficult to be certain. “Prince of Therdan,” the stranger went on, with a false-hand gesture of expansive goodwill. “It would seem that a caravan, of which I am a member, is about to pass through your town and into the Shin Hills. Unfortunately, we're just a tad short on supplies.”

“I believe you are the party from over the seas?” Reg said delicately. “I was informed of your presence. However, the High One has decreed that you are not permitted to leave Kirsti. I . . . wonder at your presence here. Also, the Shesul Road is closed to all but military traffic. I'm afraid that you're not authorized access.”

“Oh, trifles, my good man. Trifles, I'm sure!” Rastar said with a human grin. It was not a normal Mardukan expression, since Mardukans, like any sensible species, regarded the baring of teeth as a sign of hostility. Not even Eleanora O'Casey could fault him for smiling so cheerfully at the local mayor, but Rastar was pleased to observe that the expression had exercised the proper effect upon him.

“I'll admit that there was some minor unpleasantness when we left Kirsti,” he continued. “But surely no rational government would hold you responsible for our presence when half the Kirsti Guard is dead at the Atul Gate.”

“Oh.” Foreign accent or no, Reg had no problem understanding that last sentence. He tried not to flinch as he absorbed its dire implications, but he was fairly sure where the rest of the conversation was going. “I agree with your assessment,” he said, after a moment. “What can the town of Sran do for you?”

“Well, as I mentioned, we're terribly short of supplies,” Rastar said with another smile which just coincidentally happened to show a bit more tooth than the last one. "But you're in luck, because I got here before those barbarians from Diaspra or . . . even the worse, the humans. So I'm thinking that we can get clear with, oh, say one measure in five of your storehouses. And, of course, some little trinkets. Purely to satisfy the wanton lusts of those Diaspran infantry barbarians. We'll try to keep the humans from burning the town down, but you know how they are. Perhaps if everything was assembled, on carts, ready to go, when they arrived it would be easier to restrain them. And now that I think about it, if we could distract them with a feast outside town, we might actually be able to keep them in check.

“Now, I suppose we could pay for some of it,” he added with a gesture expressive of anxious consideration. “But then we'd be here all day negotiating, and they'd probably arrive before we were ready for them. What do you think would be best?”