The Treasured One. David Eddings
Sorgan Hook-Beak said that evening at the supper table. ‘I’ll be able to bring Lady Zelana’s archers here in about half the time it’d take those scows of yours.’
‘And only bring back half as many,’ Narasan added dryly. ‘We could probably argue all night about which would be better – fast or many.’
‘You’ve got a very warped sense of humor, Narasan.’
‘Nobody’s perfect,’ Narasan replied blandly.
‘Just exactly where’s the border-line between your Domain and Zelana’s, Veltan?’ Longbow asked.
‘I don’t know if I’d call it a line, exactly,’ Veltan replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Most archers are hunters, and hunters can run quite a bit faster than people who spend their time sitting in one place. Any ship – either Sorgan’s or Narasan’s – will have to take the long way around to get back to Lattash. The archers could come across country, though, and if I remember your lumpy picture correctly, a straight line from Lattash to your house here would be less than half as far as a ship would have to travel.’ He looked at Sorgan with a faint smile. ‘We could race, if you’d like, and maybe even make some kind of wager on it.’
‘I think I’ll put my money on Longbow, Sorgan,’ Narasan declared.
‘Not against me, you won’t,’ Sorgan said sourly. ‘The main thing I’ve learned about Longbow is never to try to beat him – at anything.’
The following morning a balding Trogite named Gunda came up from the beach to confer with Commander Narasan. ‘I had a clerk draw a copy of my map for Andar,’ he reported, ‘and he’ll bring the rest of the army on up through that channel through the ice. Then I bought a sloop so that I could come up here and find out exactly where we want the army to come ashore. Then I’ll go on back down to the upper end of the channel and lead Andar on up here.’
‘How long is it likely to take, Gunda?’ Narasan asked.
‘Probably about another two weeks. Have things started to heat up here yet?’
‘Not as far as we know,’ Narasan replied. ‘Of course, when you’re dealing with those snake-men, you can never be sure. Why didn’t you bring Padan up here with you?’
‘Well, he’s just a little bit nervous, Commander,’ Gunda replied. ‘When he gets here, he’s going to have to report a couple of things that aren’t going to make you any too happy.’
‘Such as?’
‘Could I take that as an order, sir?’ Gunda asked. ‘I wouldn’t want Padan to start calling me a snitch.’
‘Consider it to be an order then, Gunda. What’s been going on down there at the beach?’
‘Well, sir, when Padan woke up yesterday morning, he noticed right off that Veltan’s sloop wasn’t there any more.’
‘You said what?’ Veltan demanded.
‘It’s gone,’ Gunda replied, ‘but this gets even better. Padan told me that Commander Narasan had stripped Jalkan of his commission and had him put in chains. After a while, Padan put a couple of things together and he ran down to the little room in the hold of the ship where Jalkan had been chained to the wall – and guess what? Jalkan wasn’t there any more either. I suppose it might just be a coincidence that the sloop and Jalkan both vanished on the same night, but I don’t think I’d want to wager a month’s pay on it.’
‘Are you just about through joking around, Gunda?’ Narasan demanded.
‘I was just reporting what had happened, sir. If I remember correctly, you did order me to tell you about this, and a good soldier always obeys orders.’ He feigned a look of wide-eyed innocence.
And then he burst out laughing.
Upon reflection, Omago realized that the outlanders were quite a bit more advanced than the people of the Land of Dhrall, but their social structure left much to be desired. They were very much like children – except that they all carried deadly weapons, and they’d go to war on almost any pretext.
That childish aggressiveness did work to the advantage of the people of the Land of Dhrall, though. The current situation required many hired killers, and it appeared that Veltan and his sister had found exactly the ones best qualified to meet the servants of the Vlagh.
Omago smiled faintly. The outlanders had all appeared to be astonished by several of the innovations he’d suggested. Evidently they all had the notion of ‘primitive savages’ locked in stone in their minds. The possibility that anybody in the Land of Dhrall could come up with improvements in weaponry was beyond their comprehension.
To some degree, perhaps, that blank spot in the minds of the outlanders could have grown out of their lack of awareness – or interest – in the extensive education Omago had received from Veltan since his early childhood. He was fairly sure that no outlander from the Trogite Empire or the Land of Maag had ever had a god for his teacher. The ‘connections’ which had come to Omago had been second nature, actually. Omago habitually moved from ‘effect’ to ‘cause’, and that seemed to be unnatural for the outlanders. They always seemed to think in the opposite direction. Evidently it had never occurred to them that the source of most inventions was ‘I need something that will do that,’ not ‘I wonder what I’ll be able to do with this thing if I make it.’
Omago was forced to concede that he had made a serious blunder, however. Jalkan’s insult had been a perfect opportunity to eliminate what might well turn out to be a serious danger down the line. ‘I should have killed him right there on the spot,’ Omago muttered regretfully. ‘Narasan even went so far as to offer me the opportunity, and I passed it up – probably because I didn’t want to offend the Trogites. I’m almost certain that we haven’t seen the last of that foul-mouthed lecher.’
Then a peculiar notion came to him. Could it be that Ara had deliberately instilled that lust in Jalkan? Omago was almost positive that she could have done that. She’d certainly done it to him when they’d first met in his orchard. Just the sight of her had made him her captive. If she had, in fact, set Jalkan’s mind to moving in that direction, it was quite obvious what she’d been after. Omago cursed himself. He’d failed her. She’d almost certainly have wanted him to respond in the most primitive way – bashing Jalkan’s brains out or ripping him up the middle with that iron knife.
‘If that’s what she really wanted, I wish she’d told me what she had in mind.’ He shrugged. ‘Ah, well,’ he sighed. ‘Maybe next time.’
Jalkan of Kaldacin was the sole remaining member of a once-prominent family of the Trogite Empire. Many of his ancestors had served with honor and distinction in the Palvanum, and others had been advisors to historically significant emperors. The family had accumulated wealth, prestige and power over the years, and the names of several members were prominently displayed on various public monuments.
In the past century, however, Jalkan’s family had gone into a steep decline. Various ne’er-do-wells had squandered away the family’s wealth in wanton debauchery, gambling and drinking to excess. Moneylenders pursued them, and a fair number of Jalkan’s recent ancestors had spent their final years in assorted debtors’ prisons.
By the time Jalkan himself reached maturity, the family’s reputation had been irrevocably tarnished, and there were very few career opportunities