Down to the Sea

SEVEN

Throughout the day and into the night an inner sense told Richard Cromwell that something unusual was going on. In the week of his captivity he had grasped a sense of the language of the Kazan, realizing that there were some similarities to the Bantag dialect he had learned as a child.

He had been taken off the ship blindfolded, but the sounds and smells had told him that-he was in a city, a city of the race of the Horde, for their musky scent was overpowering. Loaded into an enclosed cart, he had noticed that the ride was smooth, the road well paved, and an ocean of noise surrounded him, echoing in the confines of city streets until they had passed through a gate. The doors clanged shut behind him with an ominous boom.

They had finally removed his blindfold once he was in his cell. He had known places far worse. The cell was even comfortable. He had a cot and a straw-filled mattress, and a thin shaft of light coming from a vent in the ceiling let him know the passage of days.

Hazin had come to visit him, and what he’d had to say was surprising. Throughout Richard tried to reveal nothing that could be of worth, and Hazin had even complimented him on his tact. At the same time, Hazin had seemed to be almost too revealing, telling him of the civil war, their learning of technology from a “prophet” and his companions who had come through a Portal more than two hundred years ago. This had given the Kazan, a minor clan on the island chains that spanned a million square miles of ocean, their first advantage in the endless warfare between a dozen rival clans.

They had made the leap to steam power, to flight, to the weapons they now possessed, and in the process they had defeated their rivals one by one, until finally the Kazan were supreme. Then had come the civil war to decide amongst themselves who should rule.

Of these subjects he had spoken without hesitation, even answering questions Richard had posed. Especially intriguing and frightful was the story of the rise of the Order of Alamut, which had been but one of the numerous cults and secret societies that the Kazan seemed to revel in. It was the prophets who suggested the breeding of humans, first for simple labor, but then for sacrifice as well, and finally for what Hazin called the fulfillment. A topic on which he would not elaborate.

Richard had expressed no reaction to this, assuming all along that the Kazan would be no different that the Bantag or Merki, and Hazin had stepped past the issue as if sensing that there was no purpose in elaborating.

During the years of the civil war, the Order, as it was simply known, had served as assassins for all sides. Once there had been an attempt to wipe them out, an effort led by the grandsire of the current emperor, and he had paid the price, his death an object lesson. From the way Hazin had talked, Richard guessed that the Shiv numbered in the tens of thousands, and he wondered why the Kazan would allow such a strength, which could perhaps turn against them the way the Chin had against the Bantag in the last days of the Great War.

The conversations were strange, perplexing, as if Hazin was educating him to some purpose Richard could not divine.

They had talked thus for days, but today was different. Hazin had not come. Richard remained alone, wondering if something had changed.

In the evening he heard anxious whispered comments in the corridor outside his bolted door, then the swift scurrying of feet. From beyond the vent opening he soon heard someone speaking slowly, as if giving a speech. He made out the Bantag word for dead, “sata,” spoken solemnly, followed by an outcry, the high keening wail of their race when mourning.

Shortly afterward, he heard other angry voices, shouts, and then the sounds of fighting, grunts of pain, and the crack of gunfire. In the corridor outside he heard more voices, the sound of someone struggling, as if being forced or dragged down the corridor, and a door slamming shut. He had drifted off to sleep then and was startled awake by the sharp report of a gunshot followed by laughter.

When the door to his cell swung open, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Had Hazin merely been toying with him? Was someone coming with a gun to finish it?

He was surprised, and relieved, to see that it was Hazin. An entourage of half a dozen Shiv and several of Hazin’s own race followed behind him. Hazin motioned for them to wait and then closed the door so that the two were alone.

“You are intelligent enough to realize that something is happening here,” Hazin said, and Richard saw a look in his eyes of excitement, of satisfaction.

“It is kind of hard to sleep when there is shooting going on in the room next to you.”

Hazin laughed. “His name was Dalmata. A rival, or should I say, a former rival.”

Again the satisfaction was evident.

“My congratulations, then,” Richard offered. “Was it ordered by the Grand Master?”

Hazin smiled. “I am the Grand Master now.”

You killed him, didn’t you? Richard thought.

“Yes. I, shall we say, arranged it,” he said in English. “Why are you telling me this?” Richard asked, and he realized that there was a touch of fear in his heart.

Hazin laughed. “Perhaps because I have to tell someone, ahd it might as well be you. That is the problem with such triumphs. There can never be an audience, never someone to share the moment with. In my world such victories are achieved alone and celebrated alone.”

At that instant Richard found an answer to a question that had bedeviled him ever since he had met Hazin. Why was he being spared? Was it just sadistic amusement or was there another purpose?

Hazin went over to the single chair in the room. A chair sized for a human, so he seemed almost absurd sitting in it. “I was born of the lowest caste,” Hazin said. “Every step has been a clawing upward. You, Cromwell, understand that better than most, saddled as you are with the name of a traitor. When I was first told who you were I was intrigued. Why would the son of a traitor wear the uniform of the nation his father had turned against? Why as well would such a nation trust you? It was an interesting skein to unravel, a diversion, even, from the more weighty concerns I was struggling with.”

Richard bristled slightly at being referred to as “a diversion,” but said nothing, curious to hear what Hazin would reveal.

“I sensed that you more than some might actually be worthy of conversation, and you’ve proven that. In fact, Richard Cromwell, you even have, as best as I can offer it, my respect.”

Startled, Richard said nothing. He had learned enough of Hazin to loathe him. Hazin was remorseless, cunning, casually brutal in the way he spoke of assassinating an emperor he had served for nearly twenty years. Yet what was disturbing was that Richard found him interesting, almost appealing. His intellect, his curiosity to know more about the world, and even, no matter how twisted, his dream of ending the conflict between humans and the Horde.

“The guards outside are waiting for you, Cromwell.”

“For what? My execution?”

“No. Your escape.”

Richard shook his head and laughed. “I try to escape and then they kill me. Even if I did escape, where would I go? How far am I from Republic territory?”

“One of my navigators will discuss that with you.”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

“I’m letting you go, Cromwell, so that you can go back to your Republic.”

Richard was tempted to scoff, but a look at Hazin’s eyes made him realize that the new Grand Master was in deadly earnest.

Stunned, Richard stood up from his cot. “I don’t understand. Why?”

“Call it a gesture.”

“For what? Am I to go back with some message? Is that it?”

“No. I have no message for your Republic.” Hazin shook his head. “Oh, if they should decide to offer submission, removal of their government to be replaced by those whom I choose to rule, that would be acceptable.”

“You know that will never happen.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“After what my people went through in the last war, they will not tamely submit, especially to one of your race.”

“Your forthrightness is a trait I find interesting in a world where such things usually bring an untimely end. Your words might actually have just changed my mind. I could have you killed instead.”

Richard stared at him coldly.

“Actually, Cromwell, what I might offer could be the only way out in the end. Is your race ready to fight a genocidal war? To hunt down every last one of mine and kill them? I don’t think you have the stomach for it. Your Keane showed charity against a hated foe. I heard the story of how Schuder saved the Bantag Qar Qarth’s life. You realize that you would have to slaughter every last one of the Bantag, even the abject Tugars, though I daresay that you might actually derive a certain pleasure from seeing all the Merki put to death.”

Richard shifted uncomfortably, for there was a kernel of truth in Hazin’s words. His observations always seemed to reach straight to the heart of the matter.

“If you are letting me go, there must be a reason. I don’t suspect that you have any feelings of friendship, especially to one of my race.”

“No. I’ve never had a friend, Cromwell, I’ve never touched love, I never had desire for a mate. Always my focus was elsewhere. Some might think that a pity, but I can at times be moved to a certain admiration, and that you have earned. It wasn’t just the foolish sentimental display of trying to protect your hapless friend. Rather, it was the coldness when faced with pain and death.

“You were born to that and learned to shield yourself with it, yet ultimately it never fully hardened you. You could, in fact, be noble, purely for the reason that you feel that it is right and proper to be that way.”

Looking at Hazin, Richard almost felt a brief instant of pity. His voice held a note of loneliness that was disturbing.

“The old Grand Master of your order. He was your teacher, your instructor, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And you felt nothing at his passing?”

Hazin smiled. “Nothing.”

Richard slowly nodded his head. “And this is the final fulfillment of what you sought?”

The smile did not change. “Only a start, Cromwell, and I will admit your leaving is a part in that game within a game.”

“Can I take Sean with me?” Richard asked abruptly.

“If he wants to go, but I doubt he will agree. In fact, he is in a cell just down the corridor. Go ask him yourself when you leave here.”

Hazin shook his head. “I know he won’t agree. Even if he did, it would make things difficult. I’m giving you a flyer. It’s been stripped down. I hope you are a good pilot, Cromwell. My master navigator says there isn’t enough fuel on board to get you all the way back, but that will no longer be my concern, only yours. For your sake I hope you find good winds aloft otherwise you will ultimately die alone at sea, though the creatures beneath should make short work of you.”

Richard felt a shiver of fear, again the primal terror of being devoured alive.

“There’s something you want me to do once I return home, isn’t there?”

“Just tell what you’ve seen.”

Richard shook his head. “I don’t understand. You know I will tell everything, alert my government, warn them of what you are, the threat you pose.”

“Oh, yes. Add in that in fairly short order you can expect our fleet off your coast. I have an audience with the new emperor later tonight and shall advise him to do just that, to attack immediately. I would say that by the next month we shall be off your coast. I can be persuasive when necessary, and I can assure you that he will agree.”

Richard turned away for a moment, utterly confused. “I don’t see any logic to this. If you struck by surprise….

He fell silent, not wishing to let Hazin hear his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, quite. I’ll tell you why, even. The civil war has ended, but we still need war. That is why I shall urge the emperor forward. Otherwise he shall have a fleet of eight battle cruisers, a hundred thousand sailors, fifty thousand assault troops, and they will have nothing to do but sit in their barracks and aboard their ships and ponder the new emptiness of their existence. Peace is death, Cromwell. It is war that is the creator.

“I can tell you now I will defeat your Republic.”

“Then why let me escape to your enemy?”

“Because it fits what I want. Don’t press any further. Tell me, Cromwell, do you take any glory from the killing of a defenseless pup, the crushing of an insect? No, that is forgotten in an instant. It is when the foe has steel that you find yourself, and hone your steel as well. My Shiv will thus be honed for greater tasks to come afterward. I want your Keane to see what is coming, to offer his best, and then to be defeated. That will crush his legend and build mine at the same time. It will even be said that I was fair in such things, noble even for offering an opponent a fair warning rather than striking stealthily with a knife in the back. After the first defeat in such a fight your side will then listen to reason rather than thrash on blindly and in defiant rage. Never comer an opponent, Cromwell. In their terror and rage they just might kill you even as they die. That was the mistake the Hordes of the north made, and that is why they were defeated while I shall win.”

Richard lowered his head. “Suppose I refuse to go.”

“You’ll go.”

Richard knew that Hazin was right. His desire for freedom would drive him forward regardless of whether it fit some plan of Hazin’s or not.

Hazin stood up and started for the door. “We’ll meet again someday, Cromwell. I suspect, if you survive the coming conflict, that you will rise quickly. In fact, I hope you do survive, for I would like to talk again someday.” Richard was stunned when Hazin, in a gesture that was uniquely human, extended his hand. Before Richard even knew what he was doing, he took it. The grip was dry, firm. Hazin released his hand and without a backward glance left the room, the door open.

A Shiv guard stood in the corridor, motioning for Richard to follow. Looking down at the floor, he saw streaks of blood, the type left when a bleeding body is dragged away.

The faint rotten-eggs smell of black powder smoke hung in the air, and as he walked down the corridor he saw a room with a door open. Inside, two humans, emaciated, dressed only in loincloths, were mopping up a pool of blood. At the end of the corridor the Shiv led Richard to another room. Opening it, he was surprised by the comfort within. Tapestries of silk covered the wall, a comfortable bed covered with cushions was in the center of the room, and he detected a feminine scent in the air.

Sean O’Donald lay on the bed, eyes closed, features peaceful.

Richard rushed into the room and shook him awake. Sean looked up dreamily and then with a look of surprise. “Richard. Hazin said you would visit me.”

“Come on, O’Donald. We’ve been freed. We’re getting out now. Tonight.”

Sean smiled, and Richard instantly realized that he was either drunk or drugged. “You go. I’m staying.”

Richard looked back at the door. “Damn it, Sean, we don’t have time for this,” he hissed. “Hazin’s letting us go, at least I think he is. Get dressed and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Sean sat up and stretched, and Richard suddenly realized that concealed beneath the covers was someone else. Wisps of black hair spread out on the pillow. She half rolled over, the cover slipping away from her shoulder, revealing her beauty. Her amber-colored eyes met his, and he felt a cold shiver.

He forced his attention away, focusing back on Sean. “Now, O’Donald. We’re getting out of here.”

“And like I said before, I’m staying.”

“Because of her?”

“In part.”

“How long have you known her, a day? Three days? Damn it, Sean, you can’t give up everything just for a girl you met three days ago.”

Sean’s features darkened. “Give up what, Cromwell? Tell me, what does the Republic have to offer me after what I have found here?”

“Honor,” Richard snapped.

Sean leaned back and laughed, turning to look at the girl, who smiled at his amusement.

“Honor? How many millions died on both sides in the last war, a war created by Keane and my father? Was that honor? And they’ll do it again. No, thank you. I tried their path. A country run by someone like my father can go to hell.”

Sean reached forward and grabbed Richard by the arm. “Stay here. You don’t understand Hazin as I do. What he offers to all of us who join him.”

“And what is that?” Richard asked bitterly.

“Order. He could unify us all, Richard, Horde and human. We would sweep the world without the type of bloodshed my father helped to create. He offers a dream, and I am willing to be part of it.”

Richard pulled his hand away and stood up. “Get on your feet, Lieutenant,” he snarled, trying desperately to somehow break through and reach him. “I’ve got an aerosteamer waiting.”

He looked over defiantly at the woman, who had sat up in the bed. Her smile was almost bemused, as if Richard was just a minor interruption.

Richard reached over to grab Sean and pull him out of bed.

“I wouldn’t try it,” Sean hissed. “You might be able to beat me, but I think the Shiv out there would not go along with it.”

Richard looked back at the open door, where half a dozen Shiv waited.

“They aren’t human,” Richard whispered. “They’re bred like horses, like cattle.”

He said the last word deliberately, for it was the darkest of insults left over from the war.

“She’s of the Shiv,” Sean said, anger darkening his features.

“All the more reason to leave her.”

“Get out.” Her words were soft, but filled with confidence. She slowly stood up, and Richard had difficulty concealing his shocked embarrassment at her nakedness. Yet he was fascinated as well by her beauty, and by her calm, casual ease.

The fact that he and Sean had been talking in English and she had spoken in the same language caught him completely off guard.

How stupid, he realized. If Hazin knew English, he should not have been surprised that a woman sent to O’Donald knew it as well.

He looked back to the Shiv who stood in the doorway. For the first time he detected an emotion on their part. It was amusement.

He slowly turned back to face Sean. “You’ll regret this the rest of your life, Lieutenant O’Donald.”

Sean seemed to stir from his hazy distant world, and for a brief moment, Richard saw an old friend from the academy, the cadet who was always so quiet, studious, even withdrawn, and yet sharply capable in any task he set himself to. He tried to smile, to somehow reach that friend and roommate, to remind him of his duty, of who he was, an officer of the Republic.

“It won’t work, Cromwell. I’m past such appeals,” Sean whispered and turned away.

The airfield was dark, and a light, hazy mist was drifting in from the midnight tropical sea. Richard suddenly realized just how tired he was, and now he faced a flight of unknown distance across an unknown sea.

He slowly walked around the airship. The design was not unlike some of the machines from the last war, bulkier in the fuselage to contain the hydrogen gas bags, a broad, single mono-wing rather than the bi-wings of the Republic’s airships. It was three engined, two on the wings and one forward.

He could see where there had been gun emplacements at the tail, above and under the belly. All had been stripped out, as was the gun forward.

No one spoke to him, and somehow the entire scene seemed like a dream. He looked at the rough chart that had been thrust into his hand. It was precious short on details, including only the coastline of the island they were now on and a sketch of where he assumed the Gettysburg had been lost, which was off to the northwest.

From that point he knew where he was. That was over thirteen hundred miles from the Republic’s main base on the coast at Constantine. The question was, how far was it from where the Gettysburg was lost to here? Four hundred miles, six hundred? He believed they had sailed four days after he was captured. That could make the distance just a few miles away, on the other side of a long island, or more than a thousand miles.

Yet he knew as well that Hazin would not send him out unless he had a reasonably good chance of succeeding.

No one spoke to him, but by the way the ground crew turned to look at him, he knew they were waiting. He scrambled up the outside ladder and into the forward cockpit. One of the Shiv followed and, without saying a word, waited while Richard strapped himself into the oversize chair. Stretching his legs out, he could barely reach the pedals. Pressing down on them, he could tell when he looked aft, worked the rudder.

The controls were basically the same: a stick for banking and climbing. The Shiv simply took hold of three knobs mounted side by side on the forward console, and pulled them back. The engines then began to turn over faster. The Shiv leaned back out of the cockpit and climbed down the ladder.

“Thanks, you son of a bitch,” Richard grumbled.

Straight ahead he could see two distant bonfires, undoubtedly marking the end of the landing strip. Without any hesitation he pulled the throttles full out. The ship lurched forward and clumsily gained speed.

It was far slower on takeoff than the planes he knew, and he sweated out the final seconds, the bonfires racing past before he felt the wings lifting and he edged back on the stick.

The airship seemed to hang in the air, and he nosed it over slightly, hoping that there were no hills ahead. Then ever so gradually he pulled back, trying to master the feel of the machine, wondering if it would give the telltale vibration through the stick just before going into a stall. He flew on for several minutes, heading due south before he finally ventured a turn, carefully banking the machine to port, watching the stars as they wheeled.

The Southern Triangle seemed higher in the sky by a good hand span, and he tried to work out the calculation, a rough estimate of just how much father south he was. Sean could have done it.

Damn him. He tried to feel pity for his friend, to understand. Hazin had seduced him first through terror, then the drugs, and finally the woman. Could I have resisted? he wondered.

He tried to believe he could have, that Hazin had seen that and decided to use him instead for another purpose. This thought also angered him. I’m escaping, but in escaping I am somehow serving his purpose as well. He toyed with the random thought of somehow trying to find the temple of Hazin’s Order, or the imperial palace, and crash the plane into it; a final defiant act that just might throw them all off balance.

And yet if I do that, he realized, the Republic will never know what is coming.

Why do I even care? he wondered. What has the Republic given me? The Yankees speak of it almost as if it were a religion, yet for millions of us it has brought nothing but anguish. If the Yankees had never come, the Hordes would have ridden on. Far fewer would have died, my mother would have never been a slave, and I of course never would have been born.

What does it offer me now? He could predict the reaction when he returned alone, the son of a traitor, bearing a fantastic tale of an empire, a race of humans bred to serve it, of Hazin, and of the betrayal by the son of a legend.

Worry about that later, he thought as he leveled out, trying to gain a fix that would guide him due north. He was distracted, though, by the sight off his starboard wing. A vast gleaming city spread out in a moon-shaped crescent around a dark bay.

He banked over slightly. In training he had flown over Roum twice, and he could tell that the largest city of the Republic would fit into but one comer of what lay below him. A sparkling pavilion, covering acres of ground, was terraced up the side of a steeply rising hill. Its columned boulevard shone from the light of a thousand torches and bonfires, and he knew that this must be the imperial residence. This single dwelling place was nearly as big as all of old Suzdal.

He was tempted to circle but decided against it, for every gallon of fuel was precious. The city slipped by beneath him, and he was still low enough to detect the smell of the fires that illuminated it.

Out in the bay, by the dim light of the Great Wheel of stars and the first of the two moons rising to the east, he could see the silhouettes of the battle fleet. The sight of it filled him with awe. He leveled out and even dropped down a few hundred feet, throttling back slightly. He counted eight great ships. Each of them, he had judged, to be three times, perhaps even four times greater than the Gettysburg. They rode the anchor, deck lights fore and aft marking them in two lines abreast. Bright, almost festive looking lanterns hung suspended from the pagoda towers. Surrounding them were dozens of other ships, smaller and yet still a match for anything the Republic could offer. The sight chilled his heart. He banked over, circling twice, trying to count the ships, to judge their size, the weapons on board.

This was the reason he had to return home. It had nothing to do with Hazin and his game of power. Here was a threat that could annihilate the service to which he had given his oath and that had given him a home in spite of his blood.

Below was a fleet that could destroy the Republic, and he alone could bring warning of it.

He finally pulled back on the stick, sending his aerosteamer up toward the clouds. He could only hope for a fair wind that would help to carry him home.