The Spikatur Cycle

Chapter five-1

Chapter five

On the Day of Opaz the DelivererEmder’s long, competent fingers deftly pulled the leather straps of my fancy sword belt into the correct position so that I might haul the buckles tight. Quietly-spoken, Emder, an invaluable man who acted as a valet as a mere part of his many functions. His neatness was of that unfussy kind an untidy person does not take as an affront.

“Now the mazilla, majis.”

He lifted the enormous collar ready to wrap it around the back of my neck. Now these ornate collars of Vallia, these mazillas, I had had trouble with before. They are stiff with gold wire, heavy with bullion, ablaze with gems. They poke up from your shoulders and enclose your head like a glittering oyster shell.

Emder leaned sideways and took a look at my face. He sighed.

“Today is the Day of Opaz the Deliverer. I know the processions will go on from suns rise to suns set—”

“And the damned speeches, and the ceremonies and all the rest of it. By the Black Chunkrah!” I said, most feelingly, using a hallowed clansman’s oath. “I ought to be well out of it.”

Emder pursed up his lips and gentled the huge collar down onto my shoulders. Mind you, the thing did give a weird kind of comfort, for it would take a monstrous blow of a sword to cut through that expensive protection. That was how they’d started in the first place, back in the days when Vallia was a motley collection of little nations all struggling for preeminence.

Well, by Vox, we weren’t far off getting back to those ancient days now!

Emder began closing the fastenings.

“The people expect to see their emperor on this day, majis. And, as well, it is the day we keep in remembrance of the Battle of Voxyri—”

“That anniversary I’ll keep, and with pleasure.” The Battle of Voxyri had taken place outside Vondium and inside the city after we’d broken in. It had taken place on the Day of Opaz the Deliverer. That battle had given us back Vondium, the capital of Vallia, and had seen me enthroned and crowned as emperor — for what that was worth.

Then, and I own somewhat petulantly, I said, “And the empress has not returned?”

“Rosala waits in patience, majis, and Floria with her.”

I’d left Bjanching beginning the work he and Deb-Lu-Quienyin must tackle to attempt to thwart this new and horrifying power of the arch maniac, Phu-Si-Yantong. I’d completely forgotten about the celebrations arranged for today. And, all the time the processions wended about the city and the bedecked narrow boats glided along the canals, and the bands played and the people cheered, all the time wizards would be struggling and battling, one against the other, on planes far removed from the gorgeous and barbaric splendor of the Day of Opaz the Deliverer...

“The empress didn’t forget about the punishments I’m going to have to endure today.” I wrenched a buckle tight and the mazilla swayed. My robes glittered. I felt a fool. “She took good care to see she wasn’t here to share my discomforts.”

“Majis!”

“All right, all right. I’m just in a foul mood.”

“Yes, majis.”

Good old Emder! A comrade, a friend, and a fellow to make sure the last button was sewed on the last shirt, the boots were polished to mirrors, the swords all held edges.

There was nothing else for it. I had to do my duty this day. This was all a part of being emperor, just as much as worrying over zorca horn rot and the supply of corn and the new gold mines, and p*****t of the troops and education for the youngsters. And — all the rest of that...

I will not go into details of the lavishness of the Day. The twin suns shone, Zim and Genodras, blazing down out of a clear sky. The waters of the canals scintillated in light. The houses were festooned with flags and bunting and draped curtains and streamers. The people shouted. The processions wound in and out, and the priests went through their rituals, earnestly and with dedication, and sweating more than a little.

The bands played. Contingents of various regiments marched. The people pranced through the avenues and crowded the narrow boats so that the canals became solid walkways.

Chanting lines of folk weaved in and out, all repeating over and over those ancient litanies, chief of which resounded all day among the half-ruined houses.

“OO-lie O-paz ... OO-lie O-paz...” Over and over, rising and falling, Oolie Opaz, on and on and on.

Surrounded by dignitaries and nobles and functionaries, I went as prescribed from place to place within the city. How different this was, by Vox, from those earlier times! Now I was surrounded by comrades, men and women who had fought with me shoulder to shoulder against our common foes. Now I had no fear, not now, not on this Day, of the poisoned frown, the disgusted look, the turning away in contempt.

The Second Sword Watch were there, inconspicuous, but there, ready in case a more deadly threat manifested itself.

Messengers in relays kept me informed on the progress of Bjanching. He had not gained clear contact with Quienyin. The two Wizards of Loh continued to investigate the extent and force of this new power wielded by Phu-Si-Yantong.

Vallia is a civilized country of Kregen, with wild enough parts here and there, as I well knew. But all the same, these processions, the brilliance of jewels and feathers, the caparisoned animals, the uproar with the banging of drums and gongs and the fierce blowing of trumpets, the smells and the scents, the sheer vitality of it all, this was a splendid and barbaric spectacle.

But the luster of the Day was dimmed for me until almost halfway through, just as we were approaching the hour of mid.

“I am parched!” quoth Nath na Kochwold — who remembered his name with the utmost clarity — and he smiled. “I look forward to the meal they have prepared with almost as much pleasure as I look forward to the march past. By Vox! What we have left of the Phalanx is a poor remnant. But they will march with a swing.”

“They will, Nath, they will.”

We alighted from the narrow boat and burst into the light of the suns and the roaring welcome of the crowds. Above us lifted the bulk of the Temple of Opaz the Judge. Glistening, impressive, floating among the clouds, it seemed, that vision of spire and dome. I looked up. The manifestation of Opaz in the guise of Judge was traditionally linked with midday, the balancing point between night and night. Here the priests would have prepared a mouth-watering repast to tide us over the next part of the Day’s events. We were all sharp set.

The marble steps glistened with gold-veined whiteness. Crimson drapes stained the marble with the semblance of blood. Ranked lines of men held back the pressing crowds. The color, the excitement and the heady energy of the celebrations filled everyone with the passionate conviction that it was divine to be alive on such a day as this.

Pausing for a moment to speak to one of the swods guarding the marble stairs, I was aware of his hard, tanned face, the direct look of his brown Vallian eyes. He was a spearman of the Fifteenth Regiment, trim in leather and crimson, his shield with its proud devices angled just so, his stout spear precisely vertical, its steel head polished to a starry glitter.

“Lahal, Kalei.” I noticed the absence of rank badges. “You were a Deldar when we fought together.”

“Aye, majister. But I got into a fight with a poor fellow out of the Phalanx. They stripped one Deldar rank from me for every tooth he lost.”

“Then—” I said, remembering. “Then he lost seven teeth.” Kalei’s hard face showed pleasure.

“I will make ob-Deldar again in three of the months of the Maiden with the Many Smiles.”

“When you reach shebov-Deldar again send me a message. I will make you a zan-Deldar at once.”[2]

His pleasure increased. I was not being magnanimous. I was not pandering to the men in the ranks. A kampeon is a veteran, a soldier who has received recognition, a man who has won renown in the army. Kalei was a kampeon. Such men are valuable, as precious as gold to an army, for from their experience and war wisdom comes the training of the youngsters. Kalei was too valuable to spend his life carrying a spear as a swod in the ranks.

And, at the same time, he had to be subject to the same iron discipline, what the swods call mazingle, as the men he trained up. There was no question of my instantly restoring his rank as a Deldar. That would undermine discipline.

Kalei knew that.

He saluted, an enormous bashing of his spear against his shield, and I nodded and walked on up the marble stairs.

“Remberee, Kalei!”

“Remberee, majister!” And then, unexpectedly, he added in his stentorian Deldar’s bellow, “May Vox of the Cunning Sword go with you always, majister!”

The soldier near the foot of the wide sweep of marble steps moved. In neat precision they opened ranks. Their weapons and harness glittered. A sedan chair borne by eight Womoxes swayed up the steps from a narrow boat moored next to the boat in which we had arrived. The chair was sumptuous. It was splendid. Crimson velvet curtains and drapes of cloth of gold concealed the occupant. Tassels of bullion glittered. Feathers waved. The rear Womoxes, massive, bull-headed men from the island of Womox off the west coast of Vallia, raised their carved and gilt-encrusted carrying poles so that the sedan chair remained level.

I turned to look back down the steps.

The chair was altogether more ornate, more regal, than the usual run of gherimcals, for the normal gherimcal of Kregen serves functional needs of carrying people about. This palanquin concentrated glory and splendor within itself.

At the side of the gherimcal walked Rosala and Fiona. So I knew.

I walked back down the steps, leaving the dignitaries and the waiting priests above me. I did not run. I do not know how I did not run.

I lifted the cloth-of-gold curtains.

Delia said, “We found not a single sign of them, and I’m late for the Day of Opaz the Deliverer — what a way for an empress to carry on!”

And I, Dray Prescot, laughed.

Neither Delia nor I cared a fig for being empress or emperor. We just wanted to get the job done.

“Whatever you do, my heart,” I said, “the people of Vallia love you.”

So we went up together to the Temple of Opaz the Judge.

Delia looked superb. She was radiant. She wore a simple sheer gown all of white, with those two special brooches, and a cape of scarlet and gold, crimson and silver, in an artful blend that combined sumptuousness with good taste in a miraculous fashion. Her brown hair was dressed high, threaded with gold and gems, and those outrageous tints of chestnut lent the perfect touch of natural beauty. Like us all, she carried arms, a rapier and a dagger swinging from jeweled lockets on a narrow gem-encrusted belt over her hips.

“And I am famished,” she said as we walked up.

“Jilian?”

“She continues the search. But the trail has gone cold, I think.”

When the people saw Delia they went wild.

Fantastic cheering and roaring, shrill cries calling down the blessings of Opaz upon her, a bedlam of love and good wishes broke in an inferno of joy to the clear skies over Vondium.

Delia smiled. The whole world brightened. She looked wonderful. With an incredibly graceful gesture, she lifted her hand, bowing to the people left and right and then walking on, her head high, proud, superb, radiant — Delia — Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains.

And I, Dray Prescot, was privileged to walk along at her side. Yes, it wasn’t all bad, being Emperor of Vallia!

The rest of the day passed in something of a blur. All the necessary rituals were gone through with proper deference. Whenever I was called on to give a speech outside the customary rote observances, it was very easy to remind the citizens of Vondium of the perils through which we had just passed, and to harp on the dangers we still faced.

“We of Vallia believe! Our children clamor to be heard. We cannot let their justifiable ambitions go unheeded. The land calls for purification. From all over the continents and islands of Paz our oppressors have flooded in. We have fought them. We have driven them back from Vondium, the proud city, and from many of the provinces.”