He shook his shaggy head in wonder. “Just take that pair of salients, for example. A man with one eye and half a brain could have noted the inherent weakness of that stretch of wall, and it virtually infiladed by those two little knolls, but the quickest thought to most minds would have been to either raise the level of the wall, lower the heights of the knolls, or both together. Drehkos, I have school training and much experience at fortifications and siegecraft but I would never have conceived of so brilliant an answer to that problem.
“You are heightening the wall, yes, but you are also making two trusty little strongpoints of those knolls. Strongpoints, furthermore, which can be safely supplied and reinforced from within the city, via the tunnels you had those refugee miners sink. And when the strongpoints fall-as fall they must-you’ll be able to get any survivors out, then, still from within the city, and fire those oil-soaked supporting timbers so that tunnels and strongpoints will come crashing down into a heap of rubble useless to the enemy for aught save engine missiles!
“It is a stroke of sheer genius, Drehkos. But more than that, it indicates the workings of a mind well versed in the intricacies of defensive warfare. I had thought that I knew all about you, but obviously I was wrong. Now, I know that you never served the Confederation, so where did you acquire such superb knowledge of siegecraft?”
Drehkos smiled slightly. “From King Buhk Headsplitter of Pitzburk and Kahleefah Ahnbahr Nahseerah of Zahrtohgah.”
Myros froze, sat stockstill, a glimmer of fear flitting in his eyes. Then he hastily signed himself, whispering, “Are . . . are you then one of them, an Undying? Such you must be if you are speaking truth, for King Buhk has been dead at least four hundred years, while the Nahseerah Dynasty was deposed more than two centuries ago!”
When Drehkos had brought out the books and Myros had examined mem, he again shook his head. “These are real treasures, Drehkos. I’m familiar, of course, with Gabos’ work, and the High Lady’s book is a standard text for cavalrymen. Greemnos* is much rarer, however. I have never seen a copy outside the Confederation Library in Kehnooryos Atheenahs. As for the other two, I was unaware that King Buhk had ever made record of his views and experiences. Do you think it authentic?”
Drehkos shrugged. “Who can say, Myros? But that parchment is very ancient, and whoever wrote it certainly knew his business. So, too, did the author of this one.” He tapped a nail on the worm-eaten binding of the last book.
Myros picked it up and, opening it, once more peered helplessly at the flowing, esoteric characters in which it was penned. “As to that, Drehkos, 111 have to take your word, since such barbaric hentracks are beyond me. Where did you learn to decipher such?”
Smiling sadly, Drehkos answered, “Along with his fortune, I inherited my father-in-law’s library, which was large and varied since he and his kindred do business in many lands. My dear Rehbehkah taught me how to read this script, which is called Ahrahbik, as she had learned from her sire along with the writing, though that last I could never get the hang of.”
“A most wise and erudite folk,” commented Myros. “I once heard the Holy Skiros attest that our Faith was in very, very ancient days, an outgrowth of theirs. Did your wife ever discourse on such matters?”
Drehkos sighed. “Alas, no. I think me she thought not well of her father’s religion, since she so soon cleaved to Sun and Wind-or perhaps she did such for love of me. Her love, unlike mine, flowered quickly, and that blossom flourished grandly all her life, Wind bear her gently. You know, cousin, often of late I-.” He broke off with a “Harumpf,” straightened in his chair and stared across at his seedy guest.
“Well, what say you? Will you help me-us? After all, the young thoheeks wants your head and balls every bit as badly as he wants mine.”
“There’s that, true enough,” nodded Myros. “And God knows, I’d much prefer a soldier’s existence to that which I’ve recently led. But with these wondrous books and the knowledge you’ve gained from them, what need have you of me? Compared to such as authored this library, I am amateurish, indeed. Or is your overgenerous request but charity? Even humbled as I am now, I do not think what pride remains mine could bear to accept such a sop-not of you.”