They are hiding somewhere, I hear! My neck! I beg you, put me down!”
I hadn’t realized I was lifting him off his feet, his face a bright and brilliant purple, his neck white under my grasp. I set him down with a crash that jarred his teeth. He moaned.
“The dowager Kovneva Tilda is drunk all the time, and the Kov Pando Marsilus, Kov of Bormark, has no army, no wealth, no friends, and is under interdict! If the King catches him in his skulking place he will be executed, by royal order!”
Chapter 9
The Battle of Tomor Peak
Ishook this Kov Lart.
“You are mistaken, onker! Kov Pando has an army, friends, and wealth! For they are here, surrounding you with steel! And if King Nemo harms a hair of his head, or his mother’s, I shall hang him from the highest spire in his own damned palace! Is that clear?”
Only after I had shouted so passionately did I stop to consider what my men thought of all this. For they had traveled far to arrive here. They had expected to be met by friends, by an army, by a hospitable Kov and Kings, ready to go with them in arms against the enemy.
Instead, they had been met with a tale of disaster, possibly a tale of treachery, for some might think I had lured them here, knowing the situation, intending merely to use them as bargaining pieces. Translation difficulties ensue here, for I cannot say they might think I used them as pawns, for the pawn in Jikaida is called the swod, and, indeed, so very many of these wild fighting men were swods in real life.
So harsh truth trips up all the fine euphemisms!
Kytun had no hesitation.
He ripped out his djangir, that short broad sword which symbolizes so much of the warrior Djangs, and waved it aloft.
“We came here to fight, Dray Prescot, King of Djanduin! Lead us to the enemy and we will thrash them!”
As usual, Kytun had struck at just the right psychological moment. The clustered warriors took up the shout and the soldiers, although no doubt looking a little askance at this calling of their prince a king, joined in, and so the moment passed, as so many moments pass on Kregen, in a shining forest of upraised blades, and a mighty shout of these men of mine to lead them on to the enemy.
So, complying with the wishes of my army, I shook this Kov Lart Mosno again.
“Where is Kov Pando hiding?”
“If I knew that, I would have had him dragged out by the heels.”
“But you would not do such a foolish thing now, would you?”
He saw my face. “No, no I would not.”
Turko the Shield, at my left side, half a pace in the rear, stepped forward. He put his handsome face up against Mosno’s.
“You address the Prince Majister as Majister, nulsh!”
And Kytun, also outraged, stepped up and boomed, “You address the King as Majister, nulsh!”
I kept my face iron-hard. As you know, titles mean nothing to me — except my being a Krozair of Zy, and that is not a title, anyway — but I did feel some relief that Turko had not bellowed that this quaking Kov should call me Prince, while Kytun had boomed that he should call me King.
I did not relish the set-to which would follow that little contretemps.
“Majister,” said this miserable wight. I would not allow myself to feel sorry for him. “The last report from the King’s scouts said he was hiding with the remnants of his army.” He swallowed and choked a little.
I set him on his feet more firmly, patted his ornate uniform front in a mock cleaning-up way, smoothed a strand of hair from his gilt-encrusted shoulder. “Now take your time, Kov. Just think. And tell me.”
“Yes, Majister.” His eyes were unfocused and he was sweating. Probably he had never before been in such close proximity to such a gang of rascals as surrounded us now. And the chiefest rogue of all was myself.
“In the woods south of Tomor Peak. Yes, Majister. He must be hiding there for the enemy has sent a force to cut off what is left of the army of Bormark.”
“You mean,” I said, outraged, “that your
I hadn’t realized I was lifting him off his feet, his face a bright and brilliant purple, his neck white under my grasp. I set him down with a crash that jarred his teeth. He moaned.
“The dowager Kovneva Tilda is drunk all the time, and the Kov Pando Marsilus, Kov of Bormark, has no army, no wealth, no friends, and is under interdict! If the King catches him in his skulking place he will be executed, by royal order!”
Chapter 9
The Battle of Tomor Peak
Ishook this Kov Lart.
“You are mistaken, onker! Kov Pando has an army, friends, and wealth! For they are here, surrounding you with steel! And if King Nemo harms a hair of his head, or his mother’s, I shall hang him from the highest spire in his own damned palace! Is that clear?”
Only after I had shouted so passionately did I stop to consider what my men thought of all this. For they had traveled far to arrive here. They had expected to be met by friends, by an army, by a hospitable Kov and Kings, ready to go with them in arms against the enemy.
Instead, they had been met with a tale of disaster, possibly a tale of treachery, for some might think I had lured them here, knowing the situation, intending merely to use them as bargaining pieces. Translation difficulties ensue here, for I cannot say they might think I used them as pawns, for the pawn in Jikaida is called the swod, and, indeed, so very many of these wild fighting men were swods in real life.
So harsh truth trips up all the fine euphemisms!
Kytun had no hesitation.
He ripped out his djangir, that short broad sword which symbolizes so much of the warrior Djangs, and waved it aloft.
“We came here to fight, Dray Prescot, King of Djanduin! Lead us to the enemy and we will thrash them!”
As usual, Kytun had struck at just the right psychological moment. The clustered warriors took up the shout and the soldiers, although no doubt looking a little askance at this calling of their prince a king, joined in, and so the moment passed, as so many moments pass on Kregen, in a shining forest of upraised blades, and a mighty shout of these men of mine to lead them on to the enemy.
So, complying with the wishes of my army, I shook this Kov Lart Mosno again.
“Where is Kov Pando hiding?”
“If I knew that, I would have had him dragged out by the heels.”
“But you would not do such a foolish thing now, would you?”
He saw my face. “No, no I would not.”
Turko the Shield, at my left side, half a pace in the rear, stepped forward. He put his handsome face up against Mosno’s.
“You address the Prince Majister as Majister, nulsh!”
And Kytun, also outraged, stepped up and boomed, “You address the King as Majister, nulsh!”
I kept my face iron-hard. As you know, titles mean nothing to me — except my being a Krozair of Zy, and that is not a title, anyway — but I did feel some relief that Turko had not bellowed that this quaking Kov should call me Prince, while Kytun had boomed that he should call me King.
I did not relish the set-to which would follow that little contretemps.
“Majister,” said this miserable wight. I would not allow myself to feel sorry for him. “The last report from the King’s scouts said he was hiding with the remnants of his army.” He swallowed and choked a little.
I set him on his feet more firmly, patted his ornate uniform front in a mock cleaning-up way, smoothed a strand of hair from his gilt-encrusted shoulder. “Now take your time, Kov. Just think. And tell me.”
“Yes, Majister.” His eyes were unfocused and he was sweating. Probably he had never before been in such close proximity to such a gang of rascals as surrounded us now. And the chiefest rogue of all was myself.
“In the woods south of Tomor Peak. Yes, Majister. He must be hiding there for the enemy has sent a force to cut off what is left of the army of Bormark.”
“You mean,” I said, outraged, “that your
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