Madman’s Army Page 3

  At that point, the beastlet was again hurled flat on one side and Newgrass, who had had a few calves of her own, over the years, belabored him until there could be no question but that his shrieks and squeals were those of true and intense pain. When Bert Djohnz came over, the little bull was more than willing to get up and leave the vicinity of his grim Auntie Newgrass with his two-leg brother.

  Worriedly, Gil beamed to Sunshine, "Dragonfly dis­turbs me, sister-mine; he is stubborn, willful, selfish and vindictive. Now, while he's only four feet or so at the withers and has not more weight than four or five men, he's not really very dangerous, but as he grows, I fear he'll become so deadly he'll have to be either run off or killed, and I love my sister's kind, Sunshine, I don't want to see any of them hurt."

  The recumbent elephant raised her trunk to ten­derly caress the man kneeling on her side with its sensitive, fingerlike tip. "Yes, man-Gil, Sunshine knows how much you love her and her sisters. She loves you deeply and so, too, do Tulip and Newgrass . . . and even that little bull, Dragonfly, he loves Gil Djohnz, brother-of-elephants.

  "The way that Dragonfly behaves and misbehaves and threatens, none of it is really his fault, brother-mine; rather it is because he is growing up with only mature elephants, not naturally, in a herd environ­ment, with others of his own age with whom he can prank and play and fight and slowly establish just what will be his place when at last he is himself mature. When we reach my place of birth, he will have a herd and you will see a great change in him, brother."

  As he mounted Sunshine after she had dried and was ready to return to the Elephant-Lines in camp, Gil saw on the distant road a galloper raising a plume of dust as he spurred hard toward the city, a string of remounts racing after him. From this distance, Gil could not be certain, but he thought that that many remounts would only be brought along by a Horseclans galloper.

  Even while Gil and his elephants were wending their slow, unhurried way back to camp, Sub-chief Djaimz Baikuh, drooping in his saddle with weariness, approached the city gate, identified himself, and was granted entry and given a guide to conduct him to the one-time ducal palace, now become a labyrinthine com­plex of old and new buildings and housing the Council of Thoheeksee and their staffs, plus all of the bureau­crats and functionaries necessary to the newly estab­lished government.

  Thoheeks Mahvros convened the meeting of those other thoheeksee who had happened to be in or near to the palace-citadel complex. All who hurried to an­swer the urgent summons for the emergency meeting were obliged to rack swords and leave other cutlery in the new receptacles located just outside the doors of the chamber, then submit to searches for hidden weap­ons by the guards, but vividly recalling the terrible events of the third-from-last meeting of the Council, the objections were few and weak.

  Thoheeks Grahvos commented, "Mahvros, we can't cast valid votes on any matter of real importance— there're only eleven of us here."

  Mahvros shook his head. "There's no need I can see to vote on anything, important or unimportant. This meeting was convened only to officially notify you all that the replacements for Captain Chief Pawl Vawn's squadron of Horseclanner archers is a few days east of

  Thrahkohnpolis and will be here within a fortnight or less."

  He paused and took a deep, deep breath. "With them rides Milos Morai, High Lord of the Confeder­ation of Eastern Peoples, our overlord ... in case anyone had forgotten. You'd best all start putting your personal affairs and those of your vassals and desmenes in proper order for his perusal or that of whomever he decides to make our prince and ahrkeethoheeksee."

  "Now just wait a minute!" yelped Thoheeks Vikos, agitatedly. "I thought one of the prime agreements when this Council of Thoheeksee was first established was that it was being established to prevent the further proliferation of despotic kings to sit on thrones and grind us all down until we could take no more and rose up against them in bloody, costly rebellions. To my mind, a prince is no better than just another name for a tyrannical ..."

  Thoheeks Grahvos slapped one horny palm on the table and roared, "Enough, now, dammit, Vikos! Do I have to shake sense into your hot head again today? In this instance, 'prince' is simply what the High Lord chooses to title his satrapeeosee, his highest-ranking deputies, who rule but only in his name and that of the Confederation."

  "What of these ahrkeethoheeksee, Grahvos?" asked another of the men. "Will they be of us or northerners put over us?"

  Grahvos shrugged. "I couldn't say, my lord, though I would imagine that the ahrkeethoheeksee, at least, will be chosen from among the present thoheeksee and possibly the prince will, too . . . but I would rather that we weren't and I mean to tell the High Lord precisely that, and in just those words."

  Young Thoheeks Pennendos looked stunned, ap­palled. "My lord, my lord, you mean you'd see our overlord put some alien over us before one of our own blood and breeding?"

  "And damned right, too!" rumbled Thoheeks Bahos' deep voice. "And if he didn't advise just that, then I would, too. Maybe you're too young to remember, but I'm not—thoheeksee fighting like gutter curs over some stinking piece of offal, hiring on warbands, tak­ing plowmen out of the croplands to push pikes and die in trying to forward a claim to the crown and office no better than some score of others. And one Bahos right along with them, too, infected by the same cursed plague of ambition as they. That pest is apparently endemic to our blood, my boy, and that's why we dare not see one of us made prince of this land."

  Mahvros looked down the table to Thoheeks Sit­heeros, saying, "My lord, for some reason, the High Lord has indicated a desire to meet your elephant-master, the man Rikos Laskos, so you must immedi­ately summon him to Mehseepolis. As for me, I can be glad that at least we finally got the new guest wing of the complex completed last year; otherwise, we'd all have to be moving out of suites and in with each other or down into the army camp for the duration of the High Lord's stay amongst us, here. Now, at last, you all know just why Thoheeks Grahvos pushed that project so hard during his last year of tenure as Coun­cil Chairman and I during the earlier months of mine own."

  Thoheeks Fraiklinos of Fraiklinospolis declared, "Well, I for one would be more than happy to see this nebulous overlord of ours even if it meant sleeping and biding in a pigsty for the next year. Something has got to be done about the raids against mine and the other western duchies, and our own reorganized fleet just does not seem capable of doing more than helping to pick up the pieces long after the damned foreign raiders are gone back to wherever they lair up."

  Grahvos sighed. "Yes, our current fleet—if I can call it that!—indeed sorely lacks experienced senior offi­cers, thanks to Zastros' prize nautikos and his idiotic idea of taking on the whole fleet of the Ehleen pirates off the Lumbuh River delta. It would seem that not even one veteran naval officer survived that debacle. And of course any who swam ashore there would've been taken and tormented to death by the bestial fen-men.

  "Such as we have are young men learning as they go along, and I fear it will take time to season them in command positions, none of which is of much help or solace to you and your folk of the western thoheek­seeahnee, my lord; just remember as you curse and revile them, that for all their present ineptitude, they are trying."

  "You're damned right they're trying!" grated Fraik­linos. "Very trying indeed, are they!"

  "Well," Grahvos said, "I do know that our overlord has a large and fine fleet in his Confederation; it is, in fact, none other than the fleet that destroyed the best part of the fleet of Zastros, the fleet of Prince Alexandros Pahpahs, Lord of the Ehleen Pirate Isles. Perhaps a reformed pirate will be what it takes to put paid to this worrisome host of active pirates, eh?"

  Fraiklinos grumped. "At this point, my lord, I'd be more than willing to try a fleet of demons and apes; certain sure, they would be of more real help than our so-called fleet; they could in no way be more useless."

  Where once, as late as three hundreds of years— scarcely an eyeblink of geological time—be
fore, had been green, verdant lands, tall forests and winding freshwater streams, the waves of a long, wide bay now lapped at beaches and muddy deltas, their oceanic salinity always tempered by the quantities of water borne down to that new bay by the rivers and streams from north and west and east. Some of those rivers were indeed mighty and they already had begun to build from the silt and sand and rock that the water brought from drier places islets and deltine peninsulas on which grew grasses and shrubs and small trees, their roots catching and holding more soil and rocks to enlarge and solidify their precarious perches.

  There were, by then, few living creatures who could recall the vast cataclysms that had spawned this bay. It had been a time of terror, a time of horror, a time for many of death. In the dark, early-morning hours, a great, unsuspected tsunami had come ashore all along the sleeping coastline and advanced destructively far, far inland, a wall of cold, salty, relentless water; even beyond the main force of the tsunami, the courses of rivers were reversed to flood over their banks, killing and destroying even more.

  Though bad enough, the tsunamis were far from the worst ills to afflict the lands and all that dwelt there­upon. There came a seemingly endless succession of earthquakes and tremors that changed the ages-old courses of streams and rivers overnight, dumped ponds and even lakes from out their beds, tumbled cities, buried towns and forests under slides or drowned them, swallowed up farms and homes. Volcanoes dormant for uncountable millennia suddenly rumbled into full, frightful, fiery life all along the chains of eastern and southern mountains, darkening days with their wind-borne dust and ash, belching molten lava and super­heated stones to fire hundreds of square miles of montane forests.

  Then, suddenly, as much as a hundred miles inland, all along the eastern coast, the land subsided and the sea came pouring, boiling in. On the southern coast, it was even worse, for the entire peninsula long ago called Florida sank until most of it was, at best, a salt fen, only its rare highlands really above the highest tides.

  A second great earthquake sank most of that area once called Louisiana, along with vast stretches of land to the west and the east of it, becoming only an estaurine bay of the vastly enlarged Gulf of Mexico. The Caribbean Sea had shown its own rapaciousness, too, avidly gobbling up coastlines, islands, cays and keys. Most of those lands, islands and islets left above water were smaller, lower and still racked by earth­quake aftershocks and some volcanism.

  But elsewhere, new lands were formed—the Ber­muda Islands having been transformed by risings into a virtual archipelago, almost circular, and almost com­pletely surrounding a shallow salt lagoon, in which lay a broad, hilly island of seabed rock, bare as a picked skull.

  After the earth had ceased its agonized spasms, the survivors—plant, animal and human—began to adjust to the new order of lands and seas, to breed and repopulate, to build anew. Some years later, subse­quent to a civil war in Kehnooryos Ehlahs, the losers enshipped, sailed down one of the rivers and out to sea, finally making landfall at the collection of new and older islands some hundreds of miles off the east coast.

  In the beginning, they made their homes on some of the less rocky, more southerly islands, refurbishing ancient ruins, farming where decent soil remained, breeding small numbers of stock beasts on the strictly limited graze, fishing, and in times of desperation, raiding the coasts and riverways of their previous home­lands to the west. But after, themselves, suffering the effects of raids, they first built a citadel on the rocky isle in the inner lagoon, then began to ship load after load of fertile soil over to fill in the terraces they were constructing of material mined from the rocks them­selves.

  Slowly, painfully, abodes were chipped out, multi-chamber homes mined into the very rock that had underlain seabed ooze from time out of mind until the upheavals had forced it from endless darkness into the glare of the sun and the silvery rays of the moon. By the time that few of the third generation of islanders were left alive, much had been accomplished and the isle was mostly become green and productive.

  Even so, however, there simply was no way to feed the ever growing population from its yield, no matter how bountiful, nor did the drudgery of farming and fishing come easily to these men, who were mostly the descendants of noble warriors, not of farmers and laborers. And so, sometime in the fourth generation, they slid into piracy on shipping—both coastal ship­ping and maritime—and began to mount regular raids on the coasts to the west, not just against their own ancestors' place of origin but against all of the lands and cities their ships and men could easily reach.

  At first, the raiders brought captives in only as slaves, for the work of making their home a near-impregnable fortress went on. Ways were found to block all save a single, treacherous channel to the open sea from the lagoon—native seamen could nego­tiate it easily and with relative speed, while non-natives perforce had to feel a way along with a leadsman always astride the bowsprit, the snail-crawl progress making of a stranger's ship an easy target to the guards on the cliffs on either hand.

  Stones were quarried from the newer, bare-rock isles and barged across the lagoon to the older, lower isles, there to be used in the construction of fortifica­tions and underwater obstacles to hinder the landings of boats on the beaches. Other fortifications and look­out towers were built atop the highest pinnacles of rock. In addition, shipload after shipload of rich soil was brought in from the less populated portions of coastlines and was used to fill terraces built into the lagoon-sides of the surrounding isles.

  But as the years followed one after the other and the raidings and piracies and sea-fights and storm-losses of ships and whole crews went on, the slaves began to outnumber the free men and women in the isles, and, at length, one farsighted Lord of the Isles persuaded the Council of Shipmasters to proclaim an end to slavery, giving every living, hale, male slave the right to either ship aboard one of the raiders as a free crewman and warrior or remain ashore to perform one of the numerous necessary trades or crafts in support of the fleet. The pirates and raiders also began to let it be known that slaves of mainland masters with enough guts to attach themselves to raiders' shore parties or otherwise get to the Sea Isles would find a welcome there, just so long as they paid their way and lived according to the Laws of the Isles.

  Over the years, a true society developed, an or­dered society, with customs and laws and usages of its own. The Lord of the Isles, chosen upon the death of his predecessor by the Council of Shipmasters, was usually—but not always!—a descendant of one of the original Ehleen settlers, and while no one of these families was even near to being of the purity of lineage that the mainland Ehleenohee called kath'ahrohs, most of them did try to kidnap and marry Ehleen women of good family, now and then in their raidings; more­over, they made sure that a priest of the Ehleen sect was always in residence in the Isles, honored after a fashion and supported handsomely.

  At a time about a hundred and fifty years after the settlement of the Isles, a non-Ehleen Lord of the Isles, Lord Djahn Krooguh, who had been a mainland slave before becoming a pirate, made a momentous and a very valuable discovery. This lord happened to be a telepath, and, having mentally communicated with var­ious beasts in his youth, before being enslaved, he sent out a beam to a pod of eheethosee—great black-and-white dolphins, called by other peoples grampuses or orcas or killer whales. Shortly, to the real terror of his crew, his small ship was surrounded by the eheethosee— their dorsal fins towering up higher than any of the men, some of them almost as long and as broad abeam as the cockleshell ship. Nor did any one of the crew­men believe for one minute that their very new lord could or was conversing in silence with the pod of sea-monsters, not at first.

  But in time such communication came to be ac­cepted among the folk of the Sea Isles and a tenuous bond between man and ork—as they came to be called, adopting a barbarian word for them—was established. Lord Djahn sought out telepaths or those with the ability to develop into such amongst his people and tried to place at least one aboard each
of the active ships; so too did all his successors, and, eventually, the telepathic ability became one of the criteria for not only becoming Lord of the Isles, but even succeeding to a command of a ship.

  Not only did the orks provide security for the Isles, they became most adept at exploring coasts and har­bors for raiders, or seeking out prey on the open seas for pirates. On occasion, two or three or more of them had butted the side of a ship in unison, disordering the crew just before a pirate ship closed with the vessel.

  Although the orks were far from averse to consum­ing dead bodies cast into the water—thus easing the problem of disposing of deceased Isle-folk without attracting sharks and other dangerous scavengers to the environs of the Isles—the sleek creatures often remarked that they preferred seals or fish or whales, so not a few of the pirates wondered now and again over the years just what kept the valuable marine allies so drawn to them. None of them ever learned, dying still ignorantly accepting the fact of the orks' inexplicable allegiances.

  Two hundred-odd years after the initial settlement, the folk of the Isles were become wealthy, their huge fleet was the largest and most powerful and modern, and enough of the mainland principalities had, over the years, suffered enough losses, broken enough teeth on the massive natural and man-made defenses of the ocean citadel to now leave well enough alone and accept their occasional losses or pay tribute in specie or goods to the Lord of the Sea Isles in order to keep his ravening, ferocious raiders from their coasts and coastal shipping.

  The only mainland state that did not suffer either sea-robbers or tribute was Kehnooryos Ehlahs; some third of a century before, all raidings against them had ceased, and few of their ships had been lost since then to the ships of the Isles. Then, just as High King Zastros had been readying his huge host to march northward on his chosen course of conquest, the young Lord of the Sea Isles, Alexandras Pahpahs, had set sail for Kehnooryos Atheenahs, capital of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, and after conferring with the rulers, allied his folk and ships with the mainland confederation that had grown out of the united stand against the High King of the Southern Ehleenohee.