This stupid reverse of the Hamalese forces in Pandahem, which I welcomed with vicious pleasure, meant that a friend was going marching off to war before he was fit enough to do so. Truly, fate is a weird old fabricator at times!
“That means you’ll be marching out, too, Chido.”
“Looking forward to it, old sport, looking forward.”
Amak Chido spoke in an offhand way, with that cultivated drawl of the raffish set of Ruathytu, but he had been thinking about what going off to war would mean, and those thoughts had not been entirely to his liking.
“If Rees insists on an entire regiment of zorcamen,” I said, and I spoke more weightily than I intended,
“then I cannot march with you.”
It was a sore point between us. That it was the truth merely helped its use as an excuse for me to stay in the city.
Perhaps I ought to say here that this “truth” was simply the fact that for all the training Rees’s men had undergone, they were new recruits, raw. The best use for them would be as a thundering great mob charging headlong into the enemy. But they rode zorcas. Not the most suitable animal for a charge, when other forms of saddle-animal were available. As zorcamen they should be employed in the scouting role. But they would be totally unfitted to carry out that task with all the skills it demanded. Whoever was running the Hamalese war effort was here allowing rank and status and a glib tongue to lead them astray. A new Pallan for the Northern Front had been appointed, one Kov Pereth; I supposed Rees had got to him.
There were plenty of glum faces as we went the rounds of the sacred quarter. Every Hamalian believed fervently that his empire would win this war, and would go on extending the boundaries of empire, but at setbacks like these they grew glum, where, I believe, other races would grow angry. It was on this day, I recall, that my winnowing of the wind at last yielded a result. Time was running out faster than I cared to contemplate. True, this setback to the Hamalese army of Pandahem gave me a little more breathing space; but all the time I spent here in Hamal I was somberly aware that when at last I prised loose the secret of the vollers a great deal more time would be required for the builders of Vallia to construct our own fliers. I was not overlooking the fact that Hamal was operating an expedition at a considerable distance from her home bases, and that she might overstretch her resources. From all I had seen in Hamal I knew the empire ruled by Queen Thyllis was immensely rich and powerful, with untapped resources of men, materials, and money. She would have to be struck many shrewd blows before the Hamalians could be convinced of the wisdom of halting their imperial ambitions and expansions. So that when at last all Pandahem had been conquered — perhaps even before the final mopping-up operations — the Hamalians would launch themselves in their clouds of sky ships against my home of Vallia. Looking back, I can think with warm affection — and not a little wry amusement, considering the way of it — how I now completely took the island empire of Vallia as my homeland. Vallia and Valka, Djanduin and Strombor!
The best way of winnowing the wind, I discovered, lay in scattering golden deldys with a lavish hand. The astrologers of this Earth consider that a person born under the sign of Scorpio is not only strong, silent, courageous, and passionate — claims I admit I could only regard with a surprised amusement -
but is also an intriguer, fond of all that is disguised or secret. If that is so I was a sorry specimen of my sky sign.
All my heavy-handed espionage had come to nothing, leaving me with dirt and air only. So I took that other course I had been planning for a time before I sold the voller. With that capital sum, and with much else I won in the frenzied gambling of the sacred quarter, I coldly bribed my way to the information. What price honor and romance!
Down in a dopa den where slimy walls dripped and cheap dips flared in cracked crocks, where the dregs of the gentry slouched in crude wooden settles, drinking dopa, driving what unimaginable phantoms from their brains I knew not and cared less, I talked to rat-faced, nervous men, men who twitched and kept one eye always roving, looking over their shoulders. I did not take any pride in this work. This dopa den had been constructed out of one of the ancient guardhouses along the waterfront walls, where they were rotting away after the new walls had been built in a wider cincture around the city. I sat and listened as Jedgul, with his cloak muffled to his ears, his eyes two bright spots in the shadows, told me he knew a man who knew another man who knew a gul who might be able to provide what I sought — and so on and so on. It was an unsavory business.
Suffice it to say, by spending a great deal of money and by beating down with harsh words and cruel threats, I was promised a meeting with a man who understood the composition of the minerals in the silver boxes, and would tell me — for a price.
I think you will understand that although I would far prefer to have done this business clad in my old scarlet breechclout, my rapier in my fist, leaping over the rooftops beneath the whirling moons of Kregen, to do it at all was the imperative driving me on. A single thought of Delia, and my twins, in far-off Valka, awaiting the onslaught of the Hamalese invaders, was more than enough to make me understand I would do anything — anything — to ensure their safety and happiness. On a night when Notor Zan had swallowed up the moons, I huddled by the wall of a manufactory in the sensil quarter of the city. Although silk was still being turned into sensil in some of the buildings, this massive block had been turned over to voller production — specifically, the filling of the amphorae from the various minerals from mines all over Hamal.
The man I knew as Ornol let me in, a finger to his lips. He was apim. We crept through the darkness, he leading, for he knew the way well from his daily labors here. When at last he let fall a crack of light from a fireglass lantern and I saw the amphorae, the scoops, the scales, and measuring devices, the troughs filled with minerals and sands and earths, I swallowed down hard. This, I felt sure, must be success!
He showed me, speaking in a low throaty whisper, what I had struggled so hard to discover. I think you will understand if, at this moment, I do not tell you of all the technical matters of the silver boxes, reserving them for a later and much more suitable occasion in my narrative. One thing, though, of interest: five minerals resulted in one kind of voller, nine in another. One flier might be pushed willy-nilly by the wind; the other might not. The only means of describing the effect I had then, with my brushed-up mid-nineteenth-century science, was to say that a voller could seize on to the subetheric forces, could lift itself against the pull of gravity, and yet lean against those forces as though leaning against an infinitely resisting fence along the line of its own direction.
Enough. The fireglass light cast weird distortions of light and shadow over Ornol’s evil face. My own face, too, was as evil, even more so, hard and ugly with the unholy passions of a long-contested victory. When I had assured myself that I had mastered the minerals, their names, their proportions, the results that would accrue from mixtures of different strengths, I tucked packets of the various earths into the pouched belt I had worn to that end. I was dressed in dark blue trousers, shirt, and cloak, and wore shoes. I carried no rapier and dagger, instead a Hamalese thraxter was belted to my waist.
“Is that enough, Bagor?” whispered Ornol. His eyes in the fireglass glow gleamed like a leem’s.
“No, Ornol. What of the other silver boxes?”
He shivered. “I know only of the vaol-boxes, Bagor. That is my work.”
“You must know something, Ornol!” I gripped his shoulder, shook him. “They are empty — and yet they cannot be empty!”
“They are not empty! Even I know that- For the sake of Kuerden the Merciless, let go of my arm!”