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And as well I must not lose sight of the fact that Med and his fellows hunted wild vosk out here in the
back hills. The domesticated vosk is the stupid sluggish animal of story and legend, and I recalled how
we had used them and their appetites in the Black Marble Quarries of Zenicce. The wild vosk, as I
discovered, was another kettle of fish altogether. They were wild. Their horns would impale a man and
his totrix together given half a chance. The Miglas prized them, though their meat was stringier and
tougher than that of the domesticated vosk, because their skins were infinitely more supple and strong,
and the export of voskskin had been of great economic value to Migla. The Canops were altering that, as
I knew; but for us, here and now training up an army in the back hills, the wild vosks had served to
create men Migla men with unerring eye and aim, and muscles that could drive a stux with deadly
accuracy.
More and more Miglas joined the growing army and shortly a vociferous claque began to demand we
march instantly to Yaman and smash the Canops in fair fight.
However much I tried to explain the truth, the hotheads would not listen. They were the victims of an old
illusion. Once a man joins his regiment and puts in a little training his whole life changes, he knows he is
fitter and tougher than he has ever been, and possessed of fighting skills he had not dreamed existed. He
sees his comrades all in line and charges valiantly with them against straw-filled dummies. He believes he
is then a soldier. He imagines he is ready to fight.
They would not listen.
Mog and Mag, ugly old twins, whipped up the passion for immediate action. The crimson of Migshaanu
appeared everywhere.
I did what I could to depress this premature enthusiasm; but everyone, including Turko, looked at me
askance, and could not wait to march.
As promised the new spears were made under my instructions and issued. All I had done was to tell the
smiths to convert a stux into a pilum. This was simply done, and in the crudest of fashions, by inserting a
rivet halfway along the shaft which, when the spear bit into a shield, would bend and snap and so allow
the pilum to droop. The trailing shaft on the ground would impede the soldier and drag down his shield.
He would not be able to drag it free for the barbs, and he would be unable to cut it away with his thraxter
for the metal splines running down the forward portion of the shaft. When the pila flew shields would be
cast away or so I hoped.
The men were divided up into regiments, and shield-men, stux-men and pilum-men formed into units for
the tactical plan.
We had a small totrix-mounted cavalry force, mostly of young Miglas who had been shaken from the
placid lethargy of their elders by their resentment of the Canoptic invasion. The totrix, a near relative of
the sectrix and the nactrix, is a somewhat heavier beast than either of those and will carry an armored
man more easily. They had nothing of the fleetness and nimbleness of zorcas, and nothing of the smashing
power of voves, but we had ourselves a cavalry screening force.
Of course, it was not easy. I had to be everywhere and superintend everything, and I own I was tired in
a way strange to me, enervated and depressed and struggling vainly to whip my enthusiasm up to the
giddy heights of all those around me.
We possessed no aerial cavalry whatsoever.
Hamp was a transformed man.
They are vosks, Dray Prescot! You said so yourself!
Yes but, Hamp, we are not ready
Look! Hamp waved his hand at the men who now ran forward steadily in long even ranks, hurling their
pila, the air filled with the flying shafts. The stux-men threw, hard and accurately. Then the whole mass
drew their veknises and charged, whooping and skirling and roaring. They made a brave sight.
Not ready, I repeated. My face was ugly.
You cannot be afraid, Dray Prescot, cackled old Mog. I saw you at work, in the jungles of that
Migshaanu-forsaken Faol. You perhaps fear for the lives of my young men?
I do.
We are happy to give our lives for Migshaanu the All-Glorious! yelled Med Neemusbane, waving his
knife.
Aye, you are happy. But I am not. Suicide is no way to find Zair and to sit at his right hand in the glory
of Zim.
Heathen gods, Dray, heathen gods!
I had to bite down my angry retort. I was, as you would say in this day and age, losing my cool.
Despite what many men aye, and many women! have said, I, Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy and
Lord of Strombor, am a human being. I am only human. I was tired in a way that irked me. If I let the
decision slip away, if I did not fight them more forcefully, I own the fault is mine. Worry and concern
pressed in on me, and I gave way. Their enthusiasm and confidence were treacherous pressures. I should
not have allowed it. But, to my shame, I did.
Very well! Give me two more sennights. Just two. Then, by Vox! Then we will march on these men of
Canopdrin!
I was a fool.
The Miglas would not wait twelve more days.
Hamp was the ringleader; chosen by me as a commander, he took full control, actively encouraged by
the twins Mog and Mag. Med Neemusbane was his enthusiastic lieutenant. The Migla army, a creation
wholly new to them, and a thing not seen in Migla for many and many a season, marched out.
They marched singing.
They carried their shields over their backs. Their stuxcals were filled. Their pila were ready. Their
veknises were sharp. They sang as they marched and the long winding columns of crimson, with the great
staff of Migshaanu borne at their head, rolled down from the back hills and took the road to Yaman.
Turko and I sat our totrixes on a little eminence and watched them go.
Fools! I whispered.
They are brave, Dray. They will fight well, for you have taught them.
I have sent them to their deaths . . .
They chose to go.
Aye. And I cannot let them go without me. I shook out the reins.
Turko lifted his great shield, specially built and strengthened, behind my back. The Suns of Scorpio
streamed their mingled red and emerald light about us as we trotted down from the hills, our twin
shadows moving with us. All this was happening because of the direct orders of the Star Lords. I did not
much care for the Everoinye then. We trotted down from the hills and so rode with the Migla army for
the city of Yaman and for disaster.
Chapter Five
Turko the Shield and I sup after the first battle
That disaster did not strike exactly as I had imagined it must.
The raw army of recruits of Migla fought well.
I fought with them. The memories I retain of that battle are scattered and fragmentary, of the charges and
the falling spears, the glitter of armor and weapons, the clouds of crossbow bolts, the solid chunking
smash of masses of men in close combat. The fliers astride their mirvols rained down their bolts from
above, and the Miglas lifted their shields, and the crossbowmen afoot loosed into them.
But the pila dragged down many a shield, and the stuxes flew. The Miglas fought magnificently. They
outnumbered the army of Canopdrin. They did not consider their own losses. They charged again and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
