"--Is moving westwards into Lapan, my lord, to put itself between Ikat and Bekla."
"Had they received any Lapanese reinforcements from Lord Randronoth when you left?"
"None, my lord,"
"No doubt they will have by now: but in the light of what you tell us, that may not be enough to make sure of defeating Erketlis. That's what the Lord General's going to discuss now. Thank you, Captain Gel-Ethlin."
"The first thing I want to settle," said Kembri, "is the command of the force in Lapan. I shall take it over myself as soon as possible, but meanwhile we need someone new, who wasn't in the defeat; someone who knows how to act quickly and ruthlessly." He looked round the room. "I don't think anyone's going to disagree about the choice. Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, I want you to go to Lapan at once and take over."
It was always impossible to perceive any change of expression in the features of the High Baron of Ortelga. As everyone turned towards him, he swung his legs down from the window embrasure, pulled his veltron straight with a quick tug and for a few moments faced the Lord General without speaking.
"My lord," he said at length, in his impaired, creaking voice. "I'll waste no time in thanking you for the honor you do me. I don't wish to take the command for two reasons. First, I think Ortelga has already contributed enough. We sent you young Ta-Kominion and his men, and whatever may have happened I don't believe they've disgraced themselves or that they're likely to. But secondly, have you thought about the Deelguy? They know very well what's happening and I feel sure Erketlis is in touch with them. Ortelga has always been Bekla's main defense against the Deelguy and if you don't want them taking this chance to come pouring across the Telthearna, I think you'd do better to leave me in Ortelga."
"Why shouldn't Ged-la-Dan command in Ortelga till you get back?" asked Durakkon.
"My lord, do you know why Ortelga remains loyal to Bekla? Because I do, principally. I was loyal to Senda-na-Say and I've been loyal to you. I personally believe that loyalty to be in Ortelga's best interests. But there are those who don't; those who dwell on the past, who pray for the return of Shardik the Bear, the power of God, and all manner of such-like nonsense. We're simple souls in Ortelga. I honestly believe you'd be taking me away from there at your peril."
Kembri tugged at his beard, reflecting. "Well, you may be right. I'd hoped to make this very well worth your while, but if you don't want the command you'd better not have it. I think you and I will have to consider this further in private, my lord," he said to Durakkon, "and confer the appointment tomorrow."
Then, without waiting for the High Baron's reply he went on, addressing the rest, "Now, I want to make sure of the reinforcements that each of you has undertaken to raise. Kabin, five hundred. Tonilda, a thousand and a half. Urtah, two thousand. Lapan I've already put at something short of two thousand. What about Belishba?" he said, looking up under his brows at the governor sitting on the couch. "One of the biggest provinces--the whole area west of the Zhairgen. You didn't tell me this morning. I need to know now. What can you promise?"
"My lord," replied the governor--an elderly, stern-looking man, with the air of one who, while he might not march out to move mountains, would be hard to dislodge from any position he had taken up--"I'm sorry to tell you this, but the truth is that law and order in the province have declined very gravely. In fact, I was lucky to get here and whether I shall be able to return is another matter."
"But the men?" pursued Kembri harshly.
The governor folded his hands before him. "I must make three things clear, my lord. First, heldro sympathies west of the Zhairgen are, I would imagine, probably stronger than anywhere else in the empire. Karnat himself, in fact, has a certain influence among the minor barons and landowners. It's not easy, you see, to prevent a certain amount Of intercourse with Terekenalt, even though we maintain a closed frontier across the Harridan Neck, and a boom across the Zhairgen. Secondly, as you know, I have been contending all this year with bands of runaway slaves turned outlaw. General Sendekar has given me valuable help-- without that we would have gone under and no doubt about it--but as things are at the moment there can be no question of impressing able-bodied, law-abiding men away from their homes. They would simply resist; and to be frank with you, my lord, I don't know that I should greatly blame them. It's easy to sit here in Bekla and talk of levying provincial troops. Do you realize that in Belishba every village maintains an all-night guard, and that men work in the fields with their arms to hand, ready to assemble at the sound of a trumpeter on continual watch?"
Kembri seemed about to speak, but before he could do so the governor went on, "And now comes the proclamation of this man, Santil-ke-Erketlis, that he will reduce peasant taxation--we're a ploughman's province, my lord, stuck out on the edge of the Harridan--and do away with slavery apart from men taken in war. I have obeyed your summons to come here. You appointed me and I thought it my duty to come. But I'm afraid--and if this angers you I can only express my regret--that I can't undertake to send men to Lapan."
Kembri, head bent forward, spoke over a clenched fist laid before him on the table. "Do you mean that you'll send only a few men, or not owe man? Think carefully before you answer."
"I believe, my lord, rightly or wrongly, that my first duty is to the province. I have indeed thought very carefully, as you may suppose. I'm afraid my answer is, not one man."
Instantly, Kembri had drawn his dagger, crossed the room in two strides and thrust the point against the governor's throat. "Not one man?"
The governors of Kabin and Tonilda, at either end of the couch, sprang apart in consternation. Neither Gel-Ethlin nor Bel-ka-Trazet made any movement, but Eud-Ecachlon clutched Donnered by the arm as if for reassurance.
"Not one man?" repeated Kembri deliberately.
The governor, slowly lifting his hands to the back of his neck, drew over his head the official chain, from which depended his seal of office, and hung it on the dagger pressed to this throat, so that it was left dangling.
"I was expecting this. There's a letter to my wife in my pocket."
As every man in the room waited for the great spurt of blood from the jugular vein, Nasada got up from his stool and hobbled forward. With a kind of unreflective, self-possessed authority, rather like that of an adult who, though not given to interference, nevertheless thinks it time to part two children before someone gets seriously hurt, he gently drew the point of the Lord General's dagger to one side, took off the chain, which he dropped into the governor's lap and then, looking directly at Kembri with an air of apology, said, "I wonder, my lord, whether you'd be so kind as to call a servant to bring me some wine--or some water, for that matter. If you can allow me, there are one or two things about Belishba that I'd rather like to say before you all reach a decision. Only it's become so hot and stuffy in here, don't you think?"
While speaking, he had somehow managed to interpose himself between the governor and the Lord General, who drew back a pace, glowering. For an instant it seemed as though he would strike Nasada.
The old man continued to peer up at him with an unaltered expression of polite solicitation. Kembri laid a hand on his shoulder as though to push him out oj the way, but this he seemed not to notice. At this moment his very helplessness and frailty became instruments of great--indeed, of insurmount-able--power. If Kembri were
to use violence on him now, he would injure himself far more than Nasada: and on this account, by the same token he could not practicably use violence on the governor.
After staring at him for a few seconds Kembri said, "Very well, U-Nasada. We'll hear you," and returned his dagger to its sheath.
"Thank you, my lord," replied Nasada. "I greatly appreciate your courtesy."
Kembri nodded to Gel-Ethlin, who went to the door and sent one of the sentries for wine, serrardoes and thrilsa. Meanwhile Nasada, drawing up his stool to the couch, began conversing with the governor, in an unraised but clearly audible voice, about the navigability of the upper Zhairgen where it divided Sarkid from Belishba.
"I've always wanted to visit Sarkid, you know," he said. "Only it's as difficult to find time in Suba as it is here, believe it or not. Donnered, do you think I could get up there by water from Suba in--what? Five or six days? It would be much the easiest way, at my time of life."
Before the wine had been brought he had become the center of a group of four or five men discussing, relaxedly and almost with animation, the entirely unexceptionable subject of travel by river throughout the empire.
"Only it's of interest to me, you see," he said, turning to Kembri with a slight suggestion of self-depreciation. "In Suba we seldom travel in any other way. I often wonder why I haven't become rheumatic: but it's possible, I suppose, that marsh frogs are immune to rheumatics."
Kembri was obliged either to smile or else to appear churlish, and a minute later himself handed Nasada his wine. The old man drank it slowly, and at a halt in the conversation got up and went over to sit beside Bel-ka-Trazet, with whom he was evidently acquainted. At length, as it became clear that the fear and tension had subsided and the mood of the room had cooled to something at least approaching composure, he returned to his stool and sat down as before, silent but alert.
"Well, Nasada," said Kembri, "let's hear, now, what you have to say."
"My lord," replied the old man, speaking slowly and appearing from time to time to pause to choose his words (Bel-ka-Trazet was not the only man to suspect that his real purpose might be to add weight to what he said and compel the attention of his hearers), "I told you that I wished to speak about Belishba. We each of us see things in the light of our own particular trade, don't we? You see with the eyes of a warrior. To a merchant the thing-- whatever it is--appears different, and a farmer sees it in yet another light. I'm a physician--insofar as anyone can be, for the truth is that we really know very little about disease and cure, though one day that may change, I suppose. But, Lord General, being a physician I see your empire as if it were sick, and I don't think anyone could deny that at the moment it is, though we may differ about the cause."