An ugly column of smoke rose against the sky. One of the village women saw it and began to wail. Must be another village, Murphy thought. He called for Panar and pointed out the smoke to him.
“Aye, lord, Katos lies in that direction.”
Christ, what do I do now? I’m too damned tired to think. “What other villages are there near here?”
“Four within one day’s ride, lord. Five, counting Katos.”
“Forget Katos. Send to the others. Do not send your best messengers. Have all the people come here. They should bring their flocks and beasts and everything they have, food and fodder, and come here quickly where I can defend them with sky weapons.”
“There is not room inside the wall for half of them!”
“Well, we build a new wall, and a ditch.” That would keep the cattle from straying and the Westmen from riding up to the walls. They weren’t likely to be dangerous on foot. Except for those long-ranging arrows. But I’ve got three rifles, and maybe Ski’ll be able to fight.
“Building a wall will take many hands from the crops,” said the chief.
Jeez, the soul of a bureaucrat. “How many crops will you harvest if the Westmen burn you out and kill you all?”
Panar shrugged. “What matter; if Lord Harkon does the same?”
“The hell with Harkon. I speak with the voice of the Lord Eqeta.”
The old chief spat into the dirt, then squinted into Murphy’s face. He said nothing.
“Look, dammit!” Murphy said. He patted his rifle, then opened his wizard robe to reveal his pistol and combat webbing. “Watch!” He drew the pistol and fired at a gourd in a nearby market stall. Everyone turned to stare at the sound, so he blew another gourd away while they were watching. “There. That is small magic.” He patted the rifle again. “And this is big magic.”
The chief nodded. “I have heard. You are a sky god.”
“Not a god, but I know the sky magic.”
“You know the Lord Eqeta, who is a sky god,” Panar said. “And that is enough. You will tell the Lord Harkon?”
“I will.”
“The messengers will go now.”
“Good.”
The chief left, and Murphy sat down in the wagon.
A couple of village kids looked shyly at him, then dodged back into their home behind the market stall.
A girl about sixteen walked by, carefully not looking at him, but she’d changed into her best clothes.
My people, Murphy thought. He laughed at himself, but even as he did he thought of what he could teach the villagers about self-defense. Pikes and spears. Stand your ground against cavalry. Discipline and trust the man next to you, and you’re as good as any cavalry.
He realized he was taking on a lot of responsibilities. The villagers would be grateful, but their lord wouldn’t much care for his giving military training to the peasants. But if that kept Ben Murphy alive long enough to get a message back, that ought to square things with Captain Galloway.
What of Lady Tylara? What if the local lord didn’t like his villagers taking matters into their own hands this way?
Ben laughed again. Too bad for Bheroman flarkon. The pike regiments had already taught peasants they could do things for themselves. Murphy wasn’t doing anything new. Besides, he was the great-grandson of a man who’d been hanged for shooting a landlord’s agent, and he wasn’t inclined to be very tender about landlords’ feelings.
PART FIVE
Principalities and Powers
22
Escorted by eight Royal Guardsmen on each side, the roasted stag marched up the aisle between the banqueting tables. Halfway to the high table, it stopped and bowed to Wanax Ganton. The two men under the draperies hanging from the platter were excellent puppeteers; the stag seemed alive, although, much to his host’s surprise, Ganton had personally speared it in yesterday’s hunt.
Lord Ajacias beamed when Ganton acknowledged the stag’s obeisance. His daughter Lady Cara also saw that Ganton approved, and giggled. “Is that not marvelous, Majesty? Hakour our chef has been a good and faithful servant for many years, but he has never given us such a meal as this.”
For the tenth time, Ganton wished that the Lady Cara seated beside him was instead the Lady Octavia Caesar. Octavia did not try to gain his favor. She did not always agree with him. Quite the contrary. She also did not giggle. And though her ankles were not so slim as the Lady Cara’s, Caesar’s granddaughter had far the best clothing on Tran, and wore her gowns and robes with a grace and dignity that suited- His thoughts were shattered by the metallic click of a star weapon made ready to fire. “HALT! WHO IS THERE?” the Lord Mason thundered in a voice like Yatar passing judgment. He came forward from his place at the end of the table, his rifle leveled at the stag, the small knife-bayonet, that was the word- pointed at the animal’s throat.
“The stag!” The response was given by Hanzar, Guards Officer of the Day. The other Guards, splendid in their new clothing-uniforms, Lord Rick called them-presented their weapons.
“What stag?” Mason demanded.
“Wanax Ganton’s stag!”
“Then pass, friend!” Mason acknowledged. “Make way for Wanax Ganton’s stag!”
Then from within the stag a loud voice shouted “Long live Wanax Ganton!” Lord Rick himself leaped from his place to repeat the cry, and all the banqueters, two hundred and more, stood and joined the cheering.
Ganton threw back his head to laugh with the others, but inwardly he could hear Lucius speaking in his ancient dry voice. “And in the midst of the triumph, at the time of a conqueror’s greatest glory, there rides in his chariot the lowest-born slave of the Empire, who never ceases to say, ‘Remember Caesar, thou art but a mortal man.’ The cheers of a throng are easily gained. Honor is more elusive.” He could hear the old man, and see Octavia nodding agreement- and also hear the Lady Cara giggle.
The stag was brought forward to the salutes of the starmen and the Guards. Their—uniforms—green shirts and trousers, green jackets, black boots and black belts with sheathed daggers, silver badges on their black berets, made them look remarkably like starmen in the dim light. Lord Ajacias had done his best with candles and torches, but a hall large enough for two hundred was far too large to be lighted properly.
Now the Guards, the starmen, and picked men from Lord Rick’s Mounted Archers and Hussars all came forward, presented their weapons, and crashed them against the floor while the stag and its table passed between their lines on its way to the sand pit between the banqueting tables. The men who’d animated the stag came out from beneath the draperies, and they were also in the uniform of Royal Guards. All presented their weapons, then saluted in the star-man’s manner. “Permission to withdraw?” Hanzar shouted.
There was a long pause. Ganton realized that Lord Rick was staring at him. “Permission granted!” Ganton called, and guards and starmen and Tamaerthans all retired in a complex drill, halting in pairs and clashing weapons as others passed between them, twirling weapons as they knelt on one knee, then rising with more flourishes. They left the hall to the thunder of applause.
Morrone appeared from somewhere. He held a knife as long as an archer’s sword. As King’s Companion, it was his duty to carve and taste the first portion of all meat brought to the high table. Ganton had always thought his friend graceful, but now he looked just a bit awkward and unrehearsed after the performance of those soldiers.
But first Yanulf. The Archpriest rose from his place opposite Ganton, and spread his arms wide. “Yatar, Great Skyfather, we thy servants give thee praise and thanks. .
“Majesty?”
His host was trying to get his attention. Ganton acknowledged him with a nod.
“Majesty, the weapon carried by the starman who challenged the stag-was this the same weapon they showed this afternoon?” He shuddered. “Is it safe that such weapons be brought into my hall?”
“Star weapons are safe while starmen are loyal,” Ganton said.
“And are they loyal, Majesty?”
“You saw,” Ganton said.
“Aye, Majesty. I saw disciplined men perform well what they have learned.”
“And—“
“I say no more—”
“I command you, speak what you think.”
“I saw them loyal to the starman,” Ajacias said. “I saw them cheer my Wanax. But I have not seen them obey the anointed of Yatar.”
“…and we thank Thee for the abundant rains of spring and the mildness of the winter,” Yanulf was saying. “And we beg Thy aid, that Thou might intercede with Hestia and all Thy great family, that our seed might not rot in the ground, but flourish and multiply, and our harvest be great that we may offer great sacrifice to Thee. And as The Time approaches, incline the hearts of our lawful rulers to know and do Thy will. . .“