Irona 700 (44 page)

Painstakingly, Irona and Kembar explained the situation. Then they asked about Karang. Could the Shapeless cross Karang? Did anyone at all live there? The people of Tombe believed it was mostly bare rock, with only a few scattered oases inhabited.

Chief Romeral's reply was brief and snappish.

His son said, “My … the noble taker of eight says I am to tell you myself, because any stripling of the Real People knows the answer. Karang, as you call it, is bare rock and gravel, shrubs, spiders, snakes. The only people who live there are the Slug Eaters.”

“Tell me about the Slug Eaters.”

“They are midgets, dwarfs, and ugly. Not Real People. Not even as human as the soft fat men of Tombe. They go naked in small groups and eat grubs and roots, snakes and vermin. They drink from puddles. They are cowards who poison their arrows.”

“Do the Real People ever go there?” Irona asked.

Raung hesitated a moment, then leaned over his father's shoulder to indicate the other man's tattoos. “Licto son of Hornopiren went there on his manhood hunt and brought back two heads. He is a mighty stalker.”

Analyzing Raung's body language as well as his words, Irona concluded that the hill folk of Muhavura regarded the tribesmen of Karang as game animals, but dangerous game animals. They would never admit to being scared of midgets, of course, but Licto's medal tattoos were impressively large and elaborate. Clearly no one was willing to cooperate with the nomads. Asked again if the Shapeless could cross Slug Eaters' land, the chiefs insisted they could not. There was no water, no shade. What they seemed to be hinting was that the Slug Eaters would stop the intruders. Irona dared not depend on that.

“We must not let the Shapeless cross the Tombe River,” she said. “Benign must defend her Empire by defending Muhavura. We need the great warriors of Muhavura to help us blockade the far bank.”

Raung translated, and the chiefs began to argue. Irona took the chance to glance sideways at Kembar and receive his nod of approval. These were the tactics they had hammered out last night.

Hakone Sague leaned over her shoulder to whisper, “They fear these Slug Eaters.” Both Irona and Kembar nodded.

“The fierce warriors,” Raung announced, “say that it is stupid to defend the far bank of a river. Make your stand on your own side, so the enemy must cross the water to attack you.”

That was true, but he might also be hinting that the far bank was dangerous: if the river was the accepted border between Karang and Muhavura, the Slug Eaters might not tolerate trespassers. What might be the correct tactic for the proud warriors of the Real People, and even the Benesh themselves, might not hold for some of the allies, who might panic when the Shapeless appeared. Those would do better with their backs to the river so that they could not run away.

“Remember, warriors,” she said, “that the enemy is even now crossing Karang, where there is no water, or very little. Their thirst will be terrible. Better to fight them before they drink than after.”

She sensed Romeral's disapproval at once, so he might not be as ignorant of Benesh as he was pretending, and young Raung's contempt as he translated was obvious. There were rules to their form of fighting, and depriving an enemy of needed water would not be sporting. Irona was not worried by their reluctance, because Muhavura would be the first to suffer if the defense failed to block Maleficence's advance. After hard talk and some insults, the Benesh and the Muhavurans agreed in principle that Muhavura must be jointly defended, but on its side of the river. Irona knew of old that a bargaining position should always include some throwaways, and crossing the river had always been a complication.

The hill men also agreed to take the upper reaches of the Tombe River, because they could put an army there much sooner than the Empire could. Mobilization would begin in three days. Kembar and the interpreters led the delegates away to meet other leaders and work out the details.

Irona sagged, feeling the strain. Feeling old!

Veer came through the drapes. “The kid was one of Podakan's pets.”

“I think he was.”

“I know he was. Irona, do you trust them? The Muhavurans, I mean?”

She looked up at the fear in his eyes and knew what he was thinking. “I have no choice. I must trust them.”

“Those savages? That wasn't sweat they were oozing, it was liquid hate. Have the tribes ever fought
for
the Empire before?”

“No.”

“Have they ever united before?”

“Not so far as I know.”

“But Podakan taught them the advantages of cooperation. Isn't that right? Cooperation against whom, Irona? Cooperation for what purpose, Irona? What did he teach those hundred or so hostages during their stay in Benign, Irona?”

She had no answers.

Later that day, a frigate arrived with reports that Grand Marshal Meluak would be there in a few days if the weather held. The reply Irona sent outlined her plans and would probably condemn Meluak's rowers to double shifts. That evening she addressed all the allied leaders who had arrived so far, reaffirming her intention of holding the Tombe River line. They looked no more enthusiastic than she felt, but no one proposed a better idea.

The river was not navigable far upstream from its mouth, so the army could not travel by boat. It began moving out on foot. Benesh forces went first, because Irona wanted them farthest inland, next to the Muhavurans when—and if—the Shapeless made contact. She did not want the less reliable allied troops panicking and swarming back along the river road, tangling the forces advancing behind them.

Irona had herself carried in the van, right behind the banners and bugles. She wondered if Podakan was leading his army to battle just as she was leading hers. After struggling to deny it for years, she had now pretty much accepted that he had been an agent of Maleficence ever since the Battle of Didicas, and possibly since he was born.

Once again, Veer stubbornly refused to stay away, and Tombe was probably no safer than wherever the army was.

She was dividing the army, which normally was a gross tactical error. Soon the men would be strung out in line of march, glaringly vulnerable to an assault at any point. Even if she ever had her entire force in place and dug in, the line would still be too weak to withstand a determined attack. It would never be able to prevent solitary Shapeless filtering through by night. She was swinging an ax against clouds of gnats.

The last real chance of stopping Maleficence's advance had been at Lopevi. Lascar 730 must have seen that and died trying. But the cause had always been close to hopeless once the Shapeless sacked Vult and passed Cape Imun. A small hole in a dike can let in a great flood.

By noon the countryside had changed. The lush fields and orchards of coastal Muhavura had given way to stony desert, more typical of the far bank, arid Karang, except that it also had a few patches of boggy hollow, which Karang seemed to lack.

At sunset they pitched camp on some hummocky meadowland, too scrubby to make good pasture and too rocky to plow. Irona dismounted from her litter and sat on a boulder while her guards hunted for a place level enough to pitch her tent. She should have been the least weary of anyone, for she alone had not had to walk, but she felt crushed by the weight of responsibility and a dread that she was making a terrible mistake.

Veer came limping up and found a rock to sit on, uncomfortably low for him. He regarded her doubtfully. “Where is everybody? I thought you were leading an army.”

“Strung out along the river,” she said. “It's not much more than a picket line, and won't be until Meluak arrives. Tomorrow we'll press on until we make contact with the hill tribes. The allies are supposed to follow us and take over the ground we're occupying at the moment. The Muhavurans are supposedly up ahead, and the Shapeless somewhere to the north, crossing Karang.” She pointed across the river, which was a placid, humble little stream now.

“That's an awful lot of supposing.”

“This is war, dear. War and facts are never found together.”

He studied her for longer. He knew her far too well to be deceived, but eventually he just shrugged and said he was thirsty; would it be safe to fill his canteen at the river?

“Better do it now, before the men start washing their feet,” she said, and he heaved himself up and limped away.

The missing truth was that both she and her little army were being offered as bait, and she was waiting to see who would bite: Muhavurans, Shapeless, or reprobate allies?

Dark came swiftly: a starless, moonless night. The thorny scrub burned poorly, giving more smoke than heat, but not enough smoke to discourage a plague of biting insects. She retreated with Veer into their tent. The princely silk pavilion had been left behind on the shore, and she must make do with a standard army tent of rough canvas. It was officially large enough for ten marines (plus about eight rocks in that area) but when Veer, two cots, a table, and a document chest were all inside, there was precious little floor space left over for Irona.

They nibbled at a tasteless army-issue supper. The tent was stuffy and hot, the camp outside loud with shouting and clatter. Veer tried to cheer her up and she snapped at him. He did not take offense.

“You're doing your best, love,” he said. “Can't do more.”

“No,” she said. “I can't. But I missed my chance to do better. Years ago, in Kell? You remember that day you thought you heard Podakan speaking after you had seen him going down the stairs? That was his father you heard.”

Veer paused with a beaker of wine halfway to his mouth.

“No,” she said, “I have not lost my wits, not yet. People taken by the Shapeless are not completely dead. Vlyplatin has communicated with me several times since his son was born. And that time he warned me to kill him while I still could.”

“Partially dead?” Veer took a long drink.

“Something survives, sometimes. You heard it, too! Podakan inherited that resonant bass voice of his from his father.”

“You couldn't have killed him at Kell. He was a Chosen by then. And if we're going to second-guess ourselves, then I'm to blame, too. Longer ago, when that schoolmaster advised you to give him to the slave traders as incorrigible—that was where I went wrong.” He drained the beaker. “I didn't try to talk you into it.”

“I wouldn't have listened. I suppose the only real chance I had was when he was born. I could have wrapped the birth cord around his neck and strangled him. But after he was born, he owned my heart.”

“No woman would do that. You know, bearing a child at Vult was not a very smart idea, love.”

“It certainly wasn't,” Irona said, remembering whose idea it had been.

Veer grimaced. “This wine is made from lemons and oak bark. So you think that when the Shapeless attack they'll leave us all half dead?”

He never mocked her like that. The strain was telling on him, too.

“I'm half dead now,” she said. “Let's turn in.”

The words had barely left her mouth before metal clashed outside her tent, and a guttural male voice said, “Your Honor? Marshal?”

She bade him enter, and the flap rose to reveal Captain Ebulobo, the Vyadian in charge of this camp. She had trouble understanding his thick accent, but his current purpose was obvious, because he stood aside to let another man enter—younger, unarmed, and spattered with mud and leaves, as if he had fallen hard, and more than once. His shins and forearms were bloody. His gear was Benesh.

“Dispatch from Captain Gilolo, Your Honor.”

Irona accepted the tablets, two of them, bound with a ribbon. “Did no one warn you against trying to run in the dark?”

He was too weary to smile. “He said it was urgent, ma'am, I mean, Your Honor.”

“Well done. Captain, see this man is fed and find him a place to sleep. He must be rewarded.”

Apparently the Vyadian could understand her well enough, because he saluted and ushered the messenger out.

Gilolo had gone ahead inland as liaison with the Muhavurans.

“You're sure there won't be a reply?” Veer asked curiously.

“It's too late to do anything tonight. Tomorrow we'll see.” She untied the ribbon and held the tablets to the lamp to read the message scratched in the wax. She sighed.

He said, “What?”

“It's coming. Tomorrow or the next day.”

Gilolo's report was brief but deadly. Strange little people, mostly women and children, were streaming out of Karang. Nobody could understand their talk, but their sign language was obviously an appeal for sanctuary. Something terrible was close on their heels.

Would the Shapeless follow the same route? Why should they? They could bypass the army, even the hill tribes, for the frontier was simply too long to defend without building a wall along it. The war to keep Maleficence out of the Empire was as good as lost already.

Irona did not sleep long before bugles and drums wakened her. The tent was even hotter and stuffier than before. Men were shouting. And screaming. Sparks flew as Veer blew on tinder to light the lamp. He burned his fingers and cursed loudly.

“My brace!” she said. “Quickly.”

“Just a moment.” At last a flame grew. Naked, Veer found her brace and helped her strap it on her leg. Then her gown, her shoes, her staff, and finally he hoisted her to her feet. She clung to a tent pole for a moment to catch her balance. Veer turned away to find his tunic.

The clamor grew louder, officers shouting orders, men screaming.

“Untie the flap, please,” she said, but Veer had hardly started when they heard Captain Ebulobo outside.

“Your Honor!”

“Enter!” she said. “What's happening?”

A dagger slashed the remaining laces and he hauled the flap aside.

“Fire, Your Honor. The sky is bright to the west! They're burning the ships!”