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Authors: Alan Burt Akers
Tags: Fiction
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long?”
“Majister!” This tall streak recovered himself. “But a couple of murs more, majister. And lahal, I am overjoyed to see you. As is my cousin—”
With that the tall man standing on his head flung himself in an amazing contortion around so that he landed on those spider-long legs. He towered in the room. He advanced on me, hand outstretched, beaming away like a searchlight.
I grasped his hand as he grasped mine.
“Dray!”
“Inch!”
Seven foot he stood in his socks, and not an inch shorter. I looked up and I laughed, and I gripped his hand as he gripped mine.
Good old Inch!
As he had said on an occasion before, so, now, he said, “As a rascally comrade of ours would say, Dray — Lahal, my old dom!”
“Aye,” I said, “and he is well and I’ve sent him back to Vondium for reinforcements. And that is why I’m here.”
“You do not surprise me.” He lifted his voice, as gangling and bubbling with life as ever, and yet with the marks of his responsibilities upon him in the line of lip and jaw, the crinkle around the eyes. “Wine! Wine for the emperor! The best we have — Jholaix! By Ngrozyan the Axe! Break out that crate of Jholaix hidden behind the racks of Stuvan! And hurry!”
Men ran off to do the kov’s bidding, and he rubbed his hands at the ends of those long thin arms where the bunched muscles showed strongly. “I’ve waited a long time for something worthwhile to celebrate.”
“Maybe celebrations are a trifle premature, particularly when I wish to deprive you of some fine fellows of your best regiments.”
“We have had a turn of fortune up here, recently, Dray. The Racters are quiet. Brince says they’re so quiet they’re up to something fiendish. Isn’t that so, Brince, you lathe of stubborn willpower?”
Inch’s second cousin, who’d come over from their native Ng’groga to help out with five hundred axemen, nodded.
“I’ve grown to love Vallia. When all these troubles are over, majister, we’d like to settle down here, if that falls within your will and permission—”
“Falls within my gratitude, Brince. You are all most welcome.”
“I thank you, majister. But what my long streak of a cousin says is true. I believe the Racters merely withdraw a little to regroup and so strike us with full force.”
“That is a sensible reading of the situation. I think, however, that the true picture is even more dire.”
Then I told them, as the Jholaix hoarded against a special day was brought in and opened and we drank, savoring the superb vintage, told them of the schemes of Layco Jhansi and the Racters. Jhansi concentrated against Turko in Falinur. The Racters turned their attentions to the King of North Vallia, upstart and usurper though he was. When, if not before, they had accomplished those tasks, they would crush Inch in the Black Mountains between them.
Inch quaffed the wine.
“Very well. We strike first. It can be done.”
“Agreed. But I still need regiments to assist Turko.” Then I spoke of the disaster that had sorcerously overtaken the Ninth Army.
The moment I had finished speaking Inch burst out: “Anything Turko requires from me he can have, and at once. We’ll get started first thing. By Ngrangi! I can’t abandon Turko — and, anyway, we can keep the Racters in play and then, when we’ve won,
we’ll
be the ones to crush them in a vise!”
Many and many a time I thank Zair for good comrades. And, more, I thank all the gods and spirits that my blade comrades are blade comrades one with another. Not for me the system which sets subordinates at one another’s throats, filled with petty jealousies, unwilling to act together, trying always to steal a march. That this system does work, after a fashion, has been proved. But its inefficiency puts it out of court to anyone with a heart and an eye to the main chance. If all my blade comrades ganged up together on me — well, then, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki Grodno,
“Majister!” This tall streak recovered himself. “But a couple of murs more, majister. And lahal, I am overjoyed to see you. As is my cousin—”
With that the tall man standing on his head flung himself in an amazing contortion around so that he landed on those spider-long legs. He towered in the room. He advanced on me, hand outstretched, beaming away like a searchlight.
I grasped his hand as he grasped mine.
“Dray!”
“Inch!”
Seven foot he stood in his socks, and not an inch shorter. I looked up and I laughed, and I gripped his hand as he gripped mine.
Good old Inch!
As he had said on an occasion before, so, now, he said, “As a rascally comrade of ours would say, Dray — Lahal, my old dom!”
“Aye,” I said, “and he is well and I’ve sent him back to Vondium for reinforcements. And that is why I’m here.”
“You do not surprise me.” He lifted his voice, as gangling and bubbling with life as ever, and yet with the marks of his responsibilities upon him in the line of lip and jaw, the crinkle around the eyes. “Wine! Wine for the emperor! The best we have — Jholaix! By Ngrozyan the Axe! Break out that crate of Jholaix hidden behind the racks of Stuvan! And hurry!”
Men ran off to do the kov’s bidding, and he rubbed his hands at the ends of those long thin arms where the bunched muscles showed strongly. “I’ve waited a long time for something worthwhile to celebrate.”
“Maybe celebrations are a trifle premature, particularly when I wish to deprive you of some fine fellows of your best regiments.”
“We have had a turn of fortune up here, recently, Dray. The Racters are quiet. Brince says they’re so quiet they’re up to something fiendish. Isn’t that so, Brince, you lathe of stubborn willpower?”
Inch’s second cousin, who’d come over from their native Ng’groga to help out with five hundred axemen, nodded.
“I’ve grown to love Vallia. When all these troubles are over, majister, we’d like to settle down here, if that falls within your will and permission—”
“Falls within my gratitude, Brince. You are all most welcome.”
“I thank you, majister. But what my long streak of a cousin says is true. I believe the Racters merely withdraw a little to regroup and so strike us with full force.”
“That is a sensible reading of the situation. I think, however, that the true picture is even more dire.”
Then I told them, as the Jholaix hoarded against a special day was brought in and opened and we drank, savoring the superb vintage, told them of the schemes of Layco Jhansi and the Racters. Jhansi concentrated against Turko in Falinur. The Racters turned their attentions to the King of North Vallia, upstart and usurper though he was. When, if not before, they had accomplished those tasks, they would crush Inch in the Black Mountains between them.
Inch quaffed the wine.
“Very well. We strike first. It can be done.”
“Agreed. But I still need regiments to assist Turko.” Then I spoke of the disaster that had sorcerously overtaken the Ninth Army.
The moment I had finished speaking Inch burst out: “Anything Turko requires from me he can have, and at once. We’ll get started first thing. By Ngrangi! I can’t abandon Turko — and, anyway, we can keep the Racters in play and then, when we’ve won,
we’ll
be the ones to crush them in a vise!”
Many and many a time I thank Zair for good comrades. And, more, I thank all the gods and spirits that my blade comrades are blade comrades one with another. Not for me the system which sets subordinates at one another’s throats, filled with petty jealousies, unwilling to act together, trying always to steal a march. That this system does work, after a fashion, has been proved. But its inefficiency puts it out of court to anyone with a heart and an eye to the main chance. If all my blade comrades ganged up together on me — well, then, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki Grodno,
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