Part 33 (1/2)

Hearts full, the co-monarchs made the ritual response and declared the manoeuvres at a triumphant end. After that they stood for some time watching as the stretcher bearers and healers and morticians and inspectors and talleymen and salvors and the other homely technicians of war's aftermath did their work. The mock battle had cost twenty-two Firvulag lives; only three were wounded. Every last human prisoner had been slain.

Sharn said, ”It was well done. The other captains will profit by this demonstration to the death, and subsequent manoeuvres can be bloodless.”

”They'll jolly well have to be, now that the Iron Villages are nearly abandoned,” Ayfa said. ”We're smack out of prisoners-unless we want to unleash Monolokee the Scunnersome on Fort Rusty.”

”Not yet. Mopping up the Vosges Lowlives can wait until Truce time. We'll have to concentrate on important business during the next three weeks. There's the Tourney practice in addition to the Nightfall preliminaries. And Roniah.”

The Queen retrieved a golden goblet from the floor, tapped a fresh keg of beer, and resumed her seat. ”Still planning to make a big deal of it? Full-scale a.s.sault, with Mimee and all?”

Sharn was still staring down at the battlefield, ham-sized fists resting on his ceremonially armoured hips. ”After seeing that we can really use metaconcert-I'm inclined to change the plan.

Since Bardelask, the balance of terror has tipped nicely to our side; we won't need to labour the point at Roniah. As for Mimee, let him loot Bardelask and withdraw, so we seem to be caving in to Aiken's demands. Meanwhile, we take a force of stalwarts and infiltrate carefully along the east bank of the Saone, then make a lightning stab at the citadel from the river side after drifting down in decamole boats. Condateyr would never dream that we'd attempt a water invasion. Too unprecedented for the hidebound Little People! We whip in there fast as weasels, hit 'em with mind-power and blood-metal and hightech zappers, raid the Milieu weapons cache-and streak out with the loot before the garrison can even pull its socks up.”

He turned around and grinned at his wife. ”And if we strike just before the Truce, Aiken won't have any comeback.”

”But the kid will be p.i.s.sed to the wide, and he'll know who to blame-”

”True, but the High Table won't let him violate the Truce by mounting a counterstrike. He's constrained by his adopted Tanu ethics in dealing with usbut we're free to treat him like any other Lowlife!”

Ayfa considered for a moment. ”It would be easy to disguise our people as Lowlives for the Roniah action. A little shapes.h.i.+fting wouldn't drain much energy from the offensive metaconcert. And the deception would be enhanced by our use of iron and futuristic weapons. Of course, we'd have to carry away our deaders and be careful not to leave any incriminating equipment behind.”

”I like it!” exclaimed Sharn. He picked up his own goblet, gave it a perfunctory wipe with the brocade table-runner, and held it out to Ayfa for filling. After taking a long pull, he studied the jewel-eyed skull of the late Velteyn of Finiah and remarked, ”This chap here was really our first fruits of Nightfall, Ayfa. It all began at Finiah, with that very first victory after so many years of ignominy-and was well and truly launched during the Last Grand Combat, even though we were robbed of our rightful triumph. The first event lifted our hearts; the second confirmed our resolution.” He looked upon the orange-haired ogress tenderly. ”I've commanded Mimee to send up the skull of Lady Armida of Bardelask to make a new matching goblet for you.”

She lowered her eyes, feeling a sentimental tear steal down her cheek, and then could not help but say, ”Before the rains come, we might even have a whole set!”

Sharn roared in appreciation. The two royals toasted each other and refilled the goblets. Sharn said, ”Too bad Aiken's such a shrimp. His skull's barely big enough for an eggcup.”

”We can take turns at breakfast,” said his wife. ”By the way-what did he want this morning?”

The King waved a dismissive paw. ”Some drivel about reparations for Bardelask, to be debited against the Grand Tourney prizes. I agreed to everything he asked for. Why not? We can take it all back after Nightfall! ... He came up with one matter that was a puzzler, though. Do we know anything about a Lowlife named Tony Wayland?”

”He was that chap the Worm captured. The one who spilled the beans about the aircraft hidden in the Vale of Hyenas.”

Sharn smacked the edge of the table. ”That's right. I'd forgotten. Well-Aiken wants us to give the creature back. He claims this Tony is the bosom buddy of a great friend of his.

Even offered to knock off a goodly portion of the reparation if we fork him over right away.”

Ayfa scowled as she swirled the dregs of her beer, ”Oh, he did, did he? Something stinks here, vein of my heart. Skathe took a fancy to Tony. When I sent her and Karbree down to oversee the Bardelask operation, they carried the Lowlife along.

And they died, Skathe and the Worm, in a most mysterious way ... ”

The King nodded. ”Lowlife treachery written all over the murders. Mimee was at a loss to account for it. The city was already taken when the half-sunken boat and the bodies were found. So you think this Tony might have-”

”Who knows?” The Queen's face within her lunetted helmet wore a terrible expression. ”Have Mimee keep an eye out for him. Pa.s.s the word to the other Little People in the South. If this Lowlife did kill my friend Skathe and the Worm, let's not be in too much of a hurry to give him to the Tanu.”

”Well,” said the King, ”Aiken didn't specify condition of merchandise.”

Ayfa leaped over and kissed his bearded cheek. ”You always understand.”