“I suspect that twinkling comes from the movement of marching—of the marching of armored soldiers,” Matt said. “The only organism I know of that moves to the beat of a drum is an army! Let's get a little more altitude, Stegoman— say, out of crossbow range.”
Stegoman felt for a thermal and tilted upward. “Ought we not avoid them completely?”
“An army marching northward, toward Prester John's territory? I think we owe it to him to take a quick survey, don't you?”
“We owe him nothing,” Stegoman grumbled, but flew south toward the army anyway.
Before they could reach it, however, the soldiers turned west onto a side road—a very wide side road; if Matt hadn't known better, he would have suspected it had been made specifically for moving troops. Come to think of it, he didn't know better. “Follow those soldiers,” he directed.
Stegoman glided over the marchers. Matt frowned down at them. “This isn't what I've been thinking of when I said I wanted to stop and ask anybody I saw, but hey, they could have seen Balkis as easily as the next man.”
“I doubt it,” Stegoman said dryly. “One sight of them and the lass would have hidden, if she had any sense.”
“Don't worry—I'll just ask them if they've seen a cat.”
“Pardon me if I think they may have ignored her,” Stegoman told him. “Cats can scarcely be a rare occurrence in so fruitful a land.”
“Well, it's worth a try, anyway,” Matt sighed. “Just land on the other side of that grove up there ahead, will you? I'll walk back to the road.”
“And if they decide to shoot you with their crossbows before you can come near them?”
Matt considered. “I'll sing the finale of Iolanthe. Meet me in midair.”
“That would not be much of a change,” the dragon grunted, but he landed as asked.
Matt clambered down. “Okay, back into the skies, soarian. If they get mean, I'll just start singing 'Up in the air, sky high, sky high…'”
“And I shall meet you on a zephyr. Aye, I know. How if they welcome you?”
“Well then, when I'm done talking, I'll hike back behind the grove again.”
“I shall hope to land before I meet you again, then,” Stego-man told him, “but I shall be watching you, never fear.” He leaped into the air in a thunder of wing-beats.
“I'd say something about Big Brother, if he were only my species,” Matt said to himself, then plunged into the grove, heading for the road.
He emerged while the soldiers were still five minutes away, so they had time to get used to the sight of him. It turned out to be a better plan than Matt had expected because he needed time to get used to them. Admittedly, for a man married to a queen who led her own troops into battle, the sight of female armor wasn't a surprise, but the sheer numbers were. He hadn't counted, but he was sure this army had to number more than a thousand—maybe more than three or four thousand.
He stood waiting. When they were close enough, he waved; after a pause, the leader raised her spear in salute. When she was ten paces from Matt, she called a halt, and the company stamped to a standstill. She bawled another command, and they all leaned on their spears—gratefully, Matt thought.
The officer paced up to him, junior officers flanking her. “Hail, wanderer!”
Matt understood her, of course—his translation spell seemed to have made a permanent change to his nervous system— but he hadn't expected to hear her speaking the language of Maracanda. Mind you, it was so heavily accented that he might not have recognized it without the spell, but it was Maracandese nonetheless.
“Hail,” he said. “My name is Matthew Mantrell.”
“I am ten-thousand-leader Liharl,” the officer replied.
Ten-thousand-leader? Matt allowed for exaggeration and mentally converted her rank to colonel. He wouldn't ask about troop strength, though. There was such a thing as bad manners in the military.
“Why have you come to the Grand Feminie?” Colonel Liharl demanded.
Now, that was a surprise—but if Prester John was real in this universe, there was no reason why the places he described in his letter to the Pope shouldn't be real, too. “I'm sorry to interrupt your progress, officer, but I'm looking for a young woman who's been kidnapped, and I was hoping you had seen her.”
“A woman kidnapped to the Grand Feminie?” The officer frowned. “Scarcely likely. Women who have been badly used come to us of their own accord.”
“Actually, this young woman might have escaped from her captors and be trying to walk home,” Matt said. “She's young, about eighteen, dark-haired, golden-skinned—”
“You describe all the young women of Maracanda!”
“Yeah, that's her, Maracandese. Haven't seen any of them this far south, have you?”
“There are several in our army,” the officer told him, “but none newly come, nor have we met any on the road.”
“I was afraid of that,” Matt sighed. “You do have cats here, don't you?”
“Thousands of them.” The woman frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“She, ah, has an affinity for the beasts,” Matt said, “and if they were rare here, and you'd seen only one…”
“That would have been a sign of her?” The officer smiled. “Clever—but in this country it would mean little.”
“Oh, well, it was worth a try.” Matt bowed. “Thank you for your time, officer. Sorry to hold you up.” He started back to the grove.
The colonel snapped out a command, and her two subordinates caught Matt by the arms. He looked up, startled. “No reason to arrest me, officer. I realize you're on campaign, but I don't know your opponents.” He hoped she didn't want him to prove that.
“How did you know we march to war?” the officer asked, frowning.
Matt glanced back at rank upon rank of soldiers. “Just an assumption I make when I see a few thousand soldiers on the march. Hey, I promise I won't tell.”
“There is no harm in your knowing, since you will not be going before us,” Colonel Liharl said. “We march ten thousand strong to overawe the barbarians on our western border, and ten more armies like ours go to the battlefield by other routes.”
Matt felt a chill down his back; the only time officers gave away military information was when they were sure the spies weren't going loose to take it anywhere. “Very interesting, but my business lies to the south, so if you'll excuse me …”
“We will not,” the colonel told him. “Our rule is that no man may enter the Grand Feminie for longer than nine days, and no matter your questions, there is only one reason why men come here. Soldiers!” She rattled off a list of names; Matt managed to make out Adonitay as a single word, but the others ran together in unfamiliar syllables. Half a dozen young women stepped forward, striking their spears against their shields in what he assumed was a salute.
“Take him back to Asusu City,” the colonel said, “and accord him every hospitality. See that all his wishes are granted.”
The young women looked annoyed, but the one with extra horsehair in her crest stepped up to take Matt by the arm, and her companions surrounded him.
“About face,” the extra-crest soldier—Matt assumed she was a corporal—told him.
Matt sighed and turned, deciding he would go along since they didn't seem to be planning any particular mayhem. He'd get a good night's sleep in a civilized bed, at least, have a good breakfast, bid them a good morning, and be on his way.
The corporal led her little troupe off to the side of the road and marched them back the way the army had come. Matt was surprised to see envy on the faces of the soldiers as they passed—he'd thought they were gung ho military, eager for battle, but it looked as though every one of them wished she were going back to Asusu with them.