The alien spoke in bursts. They’d done that before, Rick recalled; although not always. When they’d made set speeches the words flowed smoothly; it was when they engaged in spontaneous conversation that they hesitated.
The transceiver was a simple device: a rectangular sealed box, with a grill on one face. Below the grill was a colored square. There were no other controls, not even an on/off button.
He touched the control square. “Galloway here,” he said.
“Ah,” the alien voice answered. “Captain Galloway.”
“Is this Karreeel?” Rick asked. The name Karreeel translated to ‘Goldsmith,’ Inspector Agzaral had said. Karreeel had seemed to be in command of the Shalnuksi who’d hired him. At least he’d done most of the talking.
“Karreeel is not here,” the voice said. “I am Paarirre. Captain Galloway, are you in control of your men?”
“Yes.”
“And where is Mr. Parsons?”
“Dead,” Rick said.
“Ah. And you have—gained political mastery of a—suitable region?”
“Yes. We hold the area around this castle, and we are preparing to plant it all in suninomaz.”
There was a period of silence while the aliens digested this information. Then: “Excellent. We have brought goods for you. Where do you prefer that we land them?”
“North and east of this castle there is a high plateau,” Rick said.
“We see it.”
Aha, Rick thought. They know where we are. He nodded significantly to Mason, who solemnly responded. “It is a large plain. You may leave the goods at the southern edge.”
“We will choose our own place on the—plateau.”
“As you will, I prefer that you land at night, so that you are seen by as few inhabitants as possible. They have frightening legends about sky gods.”
“We may—discuss—this later. For now, tell us: how large a territory do you control?”
“How should I describe it?”
“We understand all your—common units of measure. Use those.”
Rick looked at Mason and shrugged. Best be somewhat truthful, he thought. Enough to show good faith. But don’t give them enough information to help pick targets for Shalnuksi bombs. “I hold the land for a hundred kilometers around this castle,” he said. “And I have an agreement with the neighboring kingdoms.”
There was another pause. “Surinomaz requires much cultivation. Those who work its fields must be fed.”
“I know. I can trade for food. But I must have more ammunition before I can take a larger territory. How did your troops do this in the past? You must have helped them directly.”
There was another pause. “That is not your concern. Can you secure sufficient territory?” the alien voice demanded.
“Certainly. I have that now.”
“Very well. This night, when it is fully dark, will be-convenient to us. Come to the—plateau.”
“I can’t get there that quickly,” Rick said. And since you know where I am, you must know 1 can’t get there by tonight.
“You need not come at all.”
“I have three kilos of partially refined suninomaz sap,” Rick said. “If you care to have it.”
There was another pause. “The crop this—year—will not be of high—quality. Still, it may be worth taking. When you come to collect the goods we have brought, bring the suninomaz and the transceiver. Do not bring heavy weapons. We will be watching as you approach. Farewell.”
“Tells us one thing,” Art Mason said. He followed Rick out of the chamber, enclosing the transceiver, and shut the door, just in case the push-to-talk switch wasn’t the only way the device could operate.
“What’s that?” Rick asked.
“They’re scared of our heavy weapons. We can hurt their ships.”
“Seems reasonable,” Rick agreed. Les, the human pilot of the ship that had brought them to Tran, had acted the same way, insisting that the ammunition and the recoilless and mortars be kept separate when they unloaded. “I wonder what they’ve brought us? Whatever it is, we’d better get ready to ride.”
The escort was saddled and waiting. Beazeley and Davis, with Art Mason. Six Royal Drantos Guardsmen, and a dozen Tamaerthan mounted archers with Caradoc. A string of pack mules.
Tylara nodded in satisfaction. “It says much for our rule. You go to bring as great a treasure as this kingdom has ever known, yet you feel safe with no more than a dozen lances.”
Never thought of it that way, but I guess she’s right. “We should return in two days,” he said. “Sure you don’t want me to leave Caradoc with you?”
“There is no need. The lands are quiet. I have more fear for you.”
“Nothing will happen.” Not this time, anyway. He held her close for a moment.
The trail was wide enough for two abreast, and presently Rick found himself beside his captain of archers. Caradoc was singing. The words were in the Old Speech, but the tune seemed familiar to Rick. After a moment, Caradoc turned to Rick and grinned. “An air from our wedding dances,” he said proudly.
“Ah,” Rick said. And aha. A song from the Top Fifty a couple of years ago. Gwen must have put new words to it.
“With your consent, I would return to the University for the winter, lord,” Caradoc said.
“Certainly. I’d intended for you to be with your wife.”
“I thank you.” Caradoc grinned again. “It is doubly important now.”
“Aha?”
“Yes. As I left, my lady told me she believes that we have been blessed by Hestia.”
“Congratulations.” And I really ought to cheer, Rick thought. This should make life with Tylara a bit easier…
There were a dozen cartons of cigarettes; a case of penicillin; ten bottles of Bufferin and four of vitamins; some needles and thread and sewing supplies including an ancient foot-powered sewing machine; baling wire and pliers, which Mason eagerly seized; a carton of paperback mysteries; and a box of random supplies with items as disparate as nutcrackers and soap. The rest was ammunition: cartridges for both the H&K and M-16 battle rifles, .45’s and 9 mm for the pistols and the submachine guns, grenades, mortar bombs, and fifty rounds for the recoilless.
Tylara looked at the supplies with satisfaction. “Now they have come. Are they likely to come again this season?”
“They said not,” Rick answered. “They won’t be here for a long time, possibly a full Tran year. They’ll probably come next fall, when we have a full crop of surinomaz.”
“Then I wish to return to Castle Dravan.”
“Need we go there?” Rick asked. “There is little to attack us from the west.”
“I hear tales of Westmen in the High Cumac,” Tylara said. “More have been seen this fall than in the previous twenty years.”
The Westmen were nomads who generally stayed on the high desert above the enormous fault known as the Westscarp. “If more come, Margilos should warn us,” Rick said.
Tylara snorted contempt. In times long past, Margilos had paid tribute to the Five Kingdoms. Now it was in theory an independent city state famous for breeding centaurs. “I doubt they would,” Tylara said. “They’re half nomad themselves. Unless one believes the old tales.”
Rick looked helpless. Tylara giggled. “It is said the men of Margilos have centaur blood, and there is much debate whether the first was begotten by a man on a centaur mare, or did a lady of Drantos enjoy the favor of a centaur stallion.” They laughed, then she said urgently, “It is not a joke one makes when men of Margilos are present. They are quick to anger, and when enraged they feel no pain. Like the centaurs they breed.”
“I’ll remember. But surely you’re not worried about Westmen?”
“Then it might be better to stay here. We can’t be sure the Shalnuksis won’t come again until next year- and I don’t want them to know we value Castle Dravan. They may find out, of course. But why help choose targets for their skyfire?”
“I do not disagree,” Tylara said. “Yet the risk is worthwhile. Armagh is no comfortable place to winter. I would be in Dravan before the thaws, and travel in winter is difficult.”
Something in her voice made him turn to look at her. She smiled and patted her belly.
“You too?” Rick demanded.
She frowned.
“Gwen is also pregnant. Caradoc just told me.”
“Ah.” Tylara laughed. “That is one child of Gwen’s who will cost me no sleep.” Then she came into his arms. “This time it will be a boy. I know it. And our son should be born in his own castle.”
20
A hot wind blew down from the high escarpment. The day was already a scorcher, although it was only spring here in the foothill country. There ought still to have been a nip in the air. The hot air provided less lift for the balloon, too.
“She looks ready to me, Murph,” said Corporal Walinski. “What about you?”
Ben Murphy looked at the twelve-foot balloon. It was already straining at the ropes held by the two archers. He tossed one more fuel brick into the fire-basket underneath it, then gripped the main rope in both large hands. For a moment he glanced back into the wagon bed where Lafe Reznick was napping, but Lafe was still asleep. Or pretending to be. “Ready to lift,” Murphy reported.