Jango (27 page)

"You made a grave mistake in telling the Great Jahan that you alone can make the charged water."

"But it is true."

"The Jahan is a ruthless man. My informers tell me that as soon as Anacrea has been destroyed, he will close down your laboratory and have you killed."

"Killed! Me?"

"It will appear to be an accidental explosion."

"But why?"

"He fears the charged water. It's stronger even than his great army. With you dead, no more will be made."

The little scientist seemed to be badly shaken by this warning.

"So what should I do?"

"Go on as you are for now. You'll come to no harm. I too have plans."

"You'll protect me?"

"There will be an accident. But it's not you who will die."

Similin smiled at the scientist, then returned to the crowd of dignitaries. The scaffolding was now cleared, revealing a line of towers supporting a steeply sloping track.

"Let the test proceed!" he declared, with a sensation of satisfaction.

Workmen hauled on ropes by the tallest tower. The ropes turned a winch. The winch slowly raised a platform on which stood a wheeled truck.

"The truck contains sixteen glass bottles and a box of stone ballast," said Ortus. "The bottles are filled with water and sealed. For test purposes, this is plain water. If it were charged water, and all sixteen bottles were to be smashed at once, the explosion would destroy the city of Radiance."

"Remarkable!" exclaimed the Jahan. "This man truly is a genius."

Ortus bowed.

"And what is more," said Radiant Leader, "our genius is a patriot, who is proud to serve his homeland."

Ortus bowed again.

The truck reached the top of the ramp. Here it stuck fast. The watching leaders were not aware that anything had gone wrong. Ortus quietly instructed one of the workmen to climb the tower and release the obstruction. Meanwhile he drew the attention of the two leaders to a net stretched between two poles some way away from the great structure.

"According to my calculations," he said, "the distance from the launch ramp to the net is equivalent to the sea channel between the mainland and the island of Anacrea. The height of the ramp, the velocity of the truck, and the angle of uplift are all precisely gauged to project the truck over that distance and into the net. From the optimum position on the coast, this means the bomb will strike the side of the island just below the walls of the fortress."

"Astonishing!" said the Jahan. "I have such faith in your genius that I have no doubt at all that your calculations are correct."

Radiant Leader frowned.

The workman on the tower signalled that the truck was released. Professor Ortus turned not to Radiant Leader but to the Great Jahan.

"Shall I proceed, Excellency?"

"Yes, yes. Let's see it."

"When you're ready, Professor," said Radiant Leader between clenched teeth, "I will give the command."

"Oh, I'm ready," said Ortus. "If I wasn't ready, I wouldn't ask permission to proceed."

Radiant Leader bit back the sharp rejoinder that rose to his lips, and forced a smile.

"In that case, Professor—please proceed."

Ortus gave the signal, and the truck was set in motion. It rolled down the slope gathering speed, its wheels rattling against the boards, until it was hurtling so fast it seemed it must surely shake to pieces. But no, here it was swooping down to the bottom and riding up the other side and off the ramp, sailing out and up through open air, carried only by its own momentum.

All eyes watched intently as it rose to its highest point over the parade ground and then began to fall towards the far posts. It seemed for a while that it must fall short; but down it came at last and struck the net, buckling the poles with its descending weight, and so came crashing to the ground.

A cheer rose up from the onlookers.

"Perfectly calculated!" exclaimed the Jahan. "Sheer genius!"

"Highly satisfactory," murmured Ortus, blushing with pride.

"A word, if I may," said the Jahan.

Radiant Leader could do nothing. He watched, smiling, filled with rage, as the Jahan took the little scientist aside.

"This city is too small for a man of your stature," said the Jahan. "You should be acclaimed by the whole wide world."

"Your Excellency is too kind."

"Not kind, Professor. Ambitious." He lowered his voice. "Join me, and you'll have the world at your feet."

"And him?" Ortus cast a sly glance at Radiant Leader.

"I'll take care of him."

"An accident, perhaps?"

"A casualty of war," said the Jahan.

"Most regrettable." Ortus was positively smirking.

"But first," said the Jahan, "we deal with the Nomana."

The two leaders and their retinues moved on from the arsenal to the dockyard nearby. Here in long lakeside sheds men were at work constructing five floating bridges. Each bridge, once in place, would be wide enough for a company of mounted Orlans to cross.

The chief carpenter reported to Radiant Leader.

"One left to complete, Radiance."

"How long will that take?"

"By tomorrow noon."

Radiant Leader turned to Amroth Jahan.

"When will your men be ready?"

"When I tell them," replied the Jahan. "Now, if you want."

"The ramp has to be dismantled and towed to the coast. The bridges have to be dismantled and towed downriver. Both operations will take the best part of a day and a night."

He turned to the carpenter.

"Embark the completed bridges at first light tomorrow."

And to the Jahan, "March south in the morning. By the following morning, we will be ready to attack."

"By the following morning? What are we to do all day? When I give the order, ten thousand warriors will ride without ceasing. We'll be at the coast in hours."

"The ramp and the bridges will not be in place before tomorrow night," said Radiant Leader. "But you know best how to command your Orlans, Excellency. If you want them to ride without ceasing, let them do so."

The Jahan smiled thinly.

"And your all-powerful axers, Radiance? Will they be starting their march south soon?"

"The imperial army left at dawn."

This was true. What Similin did not say was that his axers were marching east, not south. Once the battle was over, and the Orlans and the Noble Warriors had done their worst to each other, Similin meant to have his entire army rested and unharmed and ready to impose his will.

In this way, with smiles of unity and promises of mutual support, the two commanders parted to prepare for a victory neither expected to share.

The Jahan summoned his company captains. These men, over two hundred of them, each had command of a band of Orlans and were encouraged by the Jahan to operate with a high degree of independence. There was no other command structure. In time of war, even the Jahan's sons were captains like the rest. The Great Jahan gave the order as to whom the army would attack and when; the captains decided for themselves how to fight. This made the Orlan army fast and flexible, responsive to all the changes that take place in a battle.

The captains were now gathered in the same open space that had held the jagga. Amroth Jahan, his two younger sons at his side, surveyed the alert weathered faces of his veterans with pride. Such men, he thought, had no equal on the face of the earth.

"My captains," he said. "We have feasted enough. Now we go to work."

A growl of satisfaction rose up from the gathering. These were hard men, accustomed to long days on horseback and short nights on hard ground. The luxury of Radiance had already begun to pall.

"We will ride south, to the coast. There where the river meets the sea stands the island home of the Nomana."

The captains nodded as they heard this. They had been expecting it. No one had dared to speak openly to the
Jahan of the humiliation he had suffered on the bridge, but all knew that the Nomana would be made to pay for it. They too wanted revenge. An insult to the Jahan was an insult to all Orlans.

"I promise you this—I, Amroth Jahan, who have led you to victory in every battle we have ever fought—by the end of the day the god of the Noble Warriors will be dead, and all the world will know that there is no power as great as the Orlan nation!"

The captains cheered and raised their fists in the victory salute. The Great Jahan raised his fist in response.

"Call out your companies!" he cried. "Ride south!"

As the gathering dispersed, he turned to his sons.

"What news of Sasha? Is the forest burning?"

The forest was not burning. Sasha Jahan and his ten companies had arrived at the forest's edge, and his men had set about building large fires of brushwood and fallen branches. They had built ten of them, one to each company, in a line all along the fringe of the Glimmen. But the rain of recent weeks had left the wood sodden and it proved slow to burn. When at last a sluggish white smoke began to seep from the pyres, an easterly wind carried it away from the forest and into the faces of the Orlans and their horses. Many of the horses bolted, to get out of the range of the smoke. Then rain began to fall, and several of the fires went out.

Sasha Jahan sat under the shelter of an open-fronted campaign tent, pulling at his thick bushy hair and brooding on the unfairness of life. His father had ordered him
to woo the pale and beautiful girl who had dropped from the trees, and the girl had laughed at him. Then his father had ordered him to compete for the girl in the jagga, and he had humiliated him. Now his father had ordered him to burn the Glimmen, and the wood refused to burn, and the wind blew the wrong way. How could he return to his father and tell him he had failed? It was unthinkable. He could hear his father roaring at him, "What I have said I will do, I will do!"

So let
him
make a fire burn in the rain, thought Sasha bitterly. Let
him
tell the wind which way to blow.

One of his men rode up.

"Do I tell the men they can rest? This smoke's a real choker."

"Yes. Let them rest."

Sasha Jahan sat in his tent, listening to the rain falling on the taut canvas, and stared at the forest ahead. They were in there somewhere, he knew—the girl and her people, up in the trees like squirrels. He thought maybe he should send his men into the Glimmen to drive them out. But Orlans fought on horseback, not in the branches of trees. There was nothing for it but to wait for the wind to change.

Then as he gazed and brooded he became aware of movement among the trees. People were coming out of the forest.

His men came running to report.

"Enemy approaching, sir."

"Are they armed?"

"No, sir. Women, sir."

"Women?"

He emerged from his tent and mounted his Caspian. Accompanied by a dozen of his men, he rode forward to meet the party walking slowly out of the Glimmen.

He recognized the one in the lead: it was the girl called Echo Kittle. Behind her came seven or eight women, all slender and elegant but older than Echo. Beside her walked a Caspian.

He rode on until they were close, and then drew his men to a stop to let the women approach him at their own pace. Echo Kittle walked proudly, her head held high, but her face no longer wore the defiant look he had come to dread. Instead there was a deadness in her eyes.

She stopped before him. Her gaze took in the smoldering pyres.

"Your father has sent you to burn the Glimmen?"

Her voice was flat.

"Yes," said Sasha.

"The Glimmen is my home, and the home of my family, and the home of my people. I offer you my life for theirs."

"Your life?" For a moment Sasha Jahan didn't understand. "What am I to do with your life?"

"I will be your bride. As your father wishes."

"My bride?"

"I ask you not to burn the Glimmen," said Echo. "Take me instead."

Sasha's mind began to race. Could it be that his luck was changing? If he were to return with the girl, what would his father say? His father, who had himself been rejected. Sasha Jahan could still remember the thrill of astonishment he had felt as he had heard Echo's defiance of his all-powerful father.

You think you can have whatever you want, but you can't have me!

And this same proud girl was now offering herself to him, to Sasha Jahan, eldest son of the Great Jahan, and rightful inheritor of his prestige and power.

"Very well," he said. "You will return with me."

This caused a commotion among the women, which he ignored. There was sobbing and weeping. But through it all came Echo's flat voice.

"You'll put out the fires?"

Sasha Jahan gave the order.

"Put out the fires!"

"Then I'm ready."

Sasha Jahan studied her carefully.

"You'll obey me in all things, as a dutiful bride?"

Echo Kittle looked back, and there was no defiance in her eyes. Nor was there any love.

"What I have said I will do," she replied, "I will do."

A
S THEY RODE EAST,
M
ORNING
S
TAR AND THE
W
LLDMAN
passed a steady stream of travellers making their way more slowly in the same direction.

"Where are you going?" Morning Star called as they went by.

"Spikertown," came the reply.

They were fleeing the Orlan horde, seeking safety in the sheer numbers now assembling in Spikertown.

"We're all spikers now," said the Wildman.

On reaching the top of the last low hill before the descent to Spikertown, they dismounted to let Sky rest. They looked down on the bend in the Great River and saw a large crowd gathering in the water meadows. Faint but clear on the cold air, they heard the uproar of raised voices.

The Wildman scanned the distant crowd with close attention.

"It's a meet," he said. "The tribes have called a meet."

"What does that mean?" said Morning Star.

"It'll be on account of the invaders. They'll be choosing a leader." It was a good omen. He had arrived at the perfect time. "But they'll never agree."