Pournelle, Jerry - 02 - Clan and Crown

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Clan and Crown

JERRY POURNELLE

and

ROLAND GREEN

Illustrated by JOSEP M. MARTIN SAURI

ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

JANISSARIES: CLAN AND CROWN

means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission

in writing from the publisher.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living

or dead, is purely coincidental.

An Ace Book

Published by arrangement with the authors

ISBN: 0-441-38294-0

First Ace Printing: November 1982

Published simultaneously in Canada

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Manufactured in the United States of America

Ace Books, 200 Madison Avenue,

New York, New York 10016

CONTENTS

PART ONEThrones and Dominions

PART TWOIf This Be Treason...

PART THREEAngels and Ministers of Grace

INTERLUDELuna

PART FOURInvaders

PART FIVEPrincipalities and Powers

PART SIXWanax and Warlord

PART SEVENSky God

PART ONE

Thrones and Dominions

The rocket sputtered for a moment, then rose swiftly above the worn cobblestone

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courtyard of the old fortress. It hissed upwards in a column of fire, trailing golden

sparks and a faint smell of brimstone as it climbed until, without warning, it burst

loudly into a shower of silver. The crowd gasped in wonder.

High above the courtyard, two richly dressed boys about fifteen Earth years in age

clapped their hands in wonder. They huddled together in a window cut in the wall

of the keep thirty meters above the gawking populace. One of the boys shouted

aloud when the rocket burst above Castle Edron.

“Quiet! The Protector will hear us,” the other boy said. “He’ll make us join the

others.”

“He is nowhere about, Majesty.”

“Ah.” Nothing like those rockets had ever been seen on the whole planet of Tran.

Even kings should be able to gawk at them without losing status.

But, Ganton thought, kings must think first of their dignity, and for the opinions of

the nobility. No mon-arch ever needed his lords’ good opinions more than I do.

Another rocket arced across the darkening sky. This one trailed blue sparks. “Oh-

look!” he cried. The True Sun had long set, but the Firestealer was high enough to

cast baleful shadows and light the summer sky above the fortress capital of

Drantos.

Ganton shouted again as yet another rocket burst. Ganton son of Loron, Wanax of

Drantos, he might be; but he was also nine years old, fifteen according to the

reckoning of the starman Lord Rick; and the rock-ets were fun to watch. “Perhaps

we could make weap-ons from those,” Ganton said. “Do you think so?”

“The Lord Rick says he will,” Morrone answered.

He speaks in those tones, Ganton thought. They all do, when they speak of Lord

Rick. They never sound that way when the talk is about me. They re-belled

against my father. The wonder is that I lived this long. It is no time to be Wanax,

but I have no choice of times.

More rockets flashed upward from the palace courtyard. Each sent down silver

and gold showers. One burst with a loud sound.

“Was it like that?” Morrone asked.

“Louder,” Ganton answered. “Much louder.” He had no need to ask what Morrone

meant. “It was just a year ago.”

“A whole army,” Morrone said. “All killed in an instant-”

“No. Only their leaders were killed. We yet had a battle to win. Not that it was

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difficult, with the Wanax Sarakos dead, and all the starmen kneeling to Lord Rick.

But the armies of Sarakos were defeated by good Drantos warriors, not star

weapons.”

Morrone nodded, but Ganton thought his com-panion didn’t really believe it.

Sarakos had conquered nearly the whole of the Kingdom of Drantos. Until the

great battle, Sarakos held the entire County of Chelm and most lands of the other

great lords. His writ ran everywhere except into the hills where Ganton had hidden

with the Lord Protector and the remnants of the loyalist forces. Sarakos had

defeated the best Gan-ton had, had killed the first Lord Protector. Then the

starman Lord Rick had come with the wild clansmen who obeyed his wife’s

father, and in one day, one grand battle- More rockets flashed upward. “You

spend fire-powder with both hands,” Morrone said.

Ganton shrugged. “It is no small thing, the birth of the Lady Isobel as heiress to

the greatest lord of Drantos. Besides, the firepowder was given to me by Lord

Rick himself. Come, can’t I show my pleasure at the honor he does me, to have

his child born in my capital?” And without my leave, although I would have given

it cheerfully. He felt Morrone draw away, and wondered if his friend were angry.

Ganton had few enough friends, and almost none his own age; soon, he supposed,

Mor-rone too would treat him as Wanax rather than friend. All too soon. And that

would be right and proper, but it would be lonely as well- “There,” Morrone said.

He pointed toward the horizon to the south. “I can just see it. The Demon Sun.”

Ganton shuddered slightly and hoped that Mor-rone wouldn’t notice. Only a star,

the starmen had said. A star that wandered close to Tran every six hundred years.

Not a demon at all, only a star.

“It might as well be a demon,” Morrone said, as if reading his thoughts. “The

Demon Sun comes, and we live in The Time. His voice lost its banter, and took

on the singsong notes of a priest. “The Time draws near, when oceans will rise.

Storms shall rage, and gods will come from the skies to offer gifts. Woe to those

who trade with gods, for after the gods depart there shall be smoke and fire and

destfuction-” Mor-rone broke off as suddenly as he had begun. “There’s someone

coming.” He pointed. “On the south road. “There, just below the Demon Sun.”

Ganton stared into the dusky light. One of the Earthmen had told him that the

Firestealer was as bright as a hundred full Moons, but the words meant little to

Ganton. He was willing to believe that a place called Earth was the home of

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humanity, but the thought held little impact for him. Tran was home enough.

The light of the Firestealer was more than bright enough to see by, but it made for

tricky light, and cast strange shadows. But yes, there was a large party riding up to

the south gate of the town. “Merchants, I’d say,” Ganton muttered.

“Doubtless. From the southern cities, by their clothes. What would they be doing

here?”

“Come to make obeisance to me,” Ganton said. He chuckled.

“It may be,” Morrone said. He sounded very se-rious.

Ganton laughed aloud. “The southern cities would sooner give up their gods than

their councils and as-semblies and meeting halls. What could they possibly gain?”

“Lord Rick’s protection,” Morrone said.

And once again that tone, Ganton thought.

“Caravan ho!” The guard’s challenge faintly reached their high perch.

“They’re too late,” Morrone said. “The gates are locked for the night. But surely

they know that.

Someone in the caravan shouted to the sentries. Ganton couldn’t hear what was

said, but it seemed to cause a stir. “Officer of the day!” the sentry shouted.

Ganton frowned in puzzlement and looked at his friend. “What do you see?” he

asked. “Who could cause such excitement?”

Morrone shook his head. “I can’t make it out.”

“The starmen have tools to see with,” Ganton said. “They call them binoculars.”

He said the unfamiliar word gingerly. “Binoculars.”

“You should have them,” Morrone said.

Ganton shrugged. “Whose? They are the personal equipment of the starmen, and

there are no more than a dozen of those—binoculars—in all this world of Tran.

How should I have them?”

“You are Wanax!” Morrone said. “These starmen are not great lords. The Lord

Rick himself is no more than Eqeta of Chelm. Aye, and that only through his

wife’s first husband. Ach. The Eqetassa Tylara no more deserves that title than I

do. Less, for I was cousin to the last Eqeta, and she no more than his unbedded

wife.”

Ganton stared in amazement. He had heard com-plaints before, but none so open.

“Yet when you speak of the Lord Rick,” Ganton said. “Your voice. You speak of

him as you would of—of Yatar.”

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“Your pardon, Majesty. I spoke in haste—”

“You will not do this to me!” Ganton shouted. “Finish what you have begun.

What is this you say? If you have complaints against the Lord Rick, say them

now. Speak to me as friend—”

“I say no more than do hundreds of your loyal nobility,” Morrone said. “We

respect the Lord Rick, and we would follow him-but we fear his upstart family.

We fear they will bring their kilted barbarians to Drantos by scores.”

“I would they would bring tens of scores of their archers,” Ganton said.

“Perhaps. But when they loose their gullfeathered arrows who will wear the grey

Tamaerthan plum-age? Your enemies or your friends?” His voice fell.

“Majesty. Ganton, my friend. I know it must be hard.”

“Hard,” Ganton said. “Hard indeed. Even the Pro-tector fears the Lord Rick and

the star weapons. As he should. You were not there, but I was there, when the

other starman, Parsons, the renegade, made com-mon cause with Sarakos, and

turned those weapons on my armies. Men, horses, all destroyed, and the sounds of

thunder everywhere. No one safe. My Cap-tain-General died at my side, and we

five furlongs from the battle!

“But it will change,” Ganton said. “I will not be in leading strings forever. Listen.”

There were more shouts below. Then a rumble. “The gates,” Morrone said. “They

open the gates, even at this late hour! Who?”

“We must go see,” Ganton said. “Race you.” He leaped from the window seat and

was down half a flight of steps before Morrone could follow.

They raced down the stairs, shouting and laugh-ing.

The Lord Protector was waiting for them at the second landing. His scarred,

weatherbeaten face and the plain broadsword hung on his belt contrasted sharply

with -the rich blue and scarlet court attire and jeweled chain of office. He was

obviously far more at home in the saddle than the throne room.

Ganton caught himself in mid-stride and drew himself to full height, trying to

walk carefully and correctly, hoping that Camithon hadn’t seen him run-ning.

“Sire,” Camithon began. By Yatar, I’m for it now, Ganton thought. “Sire, you

should not have absented yourself for so long,” the Protector said. “You do little

honor to the lord and lady of Chelm, after they have so honored your house by

bringing forth their first child here.”

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Once more, Ganton thought. Tell me once more how honored I am, and I will

scream curses on your ancestors.”My house is honored indeed. But per-haps there

were practical reasons as well? If the Lady Tylara bore her child in Chelm, her

clansmen in Ta-maerthon would be slighted-and if in Tamaerthon, would not the

knights and bheromen of Chelm know insult? My house was a convenience to

them. And to the realm, of course. To the realm.”

Camithon frowned, and the great scar across his face grew dark. For a moment

Ganton was afraid. The old warrior was perfectly capable of bending his

sov-ereign over his knee-although, Ganton reassured himself, never in public.

“It’s true enough,” Ganton insisted.

Camithon nodded. “Aye. Yatar’s own truth. But there is such a thing as the right

words at the wrong time.”

“I heard a disturbance,” Ganton said. “I came to see.”

“Aye. A starman. Come to see Lord Rick. With a gift.”

Camithon didn’t have to explain the significance of that.

The walls were thick stone crowned with battle-ments. The gates were set in

massive porticos, and made of heavy wood studded with large iron knobs. The

small mounted party was barely through when the gates crashed shut, and they

heard the locking bar, a log nearly as big around as a telephone pole, fall into

place. Ben Murphy rode on in silence for a mo-ment, then turned to his

companion. “Guess it’s too late for second thoughts now,” he said in English.

In contrast to Murphy, the other man was mounted on a centaur. It didn’t look

much like the classical centaurs; the upper torso was more apelike than hu-man,

while the body itself resembled a moose as much as it did a horse. Its rider looked

around through half-closed eyes. “I reckon we could get out of here,” he said. He

reached forward to stroke the centaur’s back. “Dobbin and me’ve been through a

bit on this stupid planet. Don’t reckon we’d let these city types stop us.”

“Naw,” Murphy said. “We’d never make it.”

“Hell we couldn’t.” Lafe Reznick patted the H&K battle rifle slung over his

shoulder. “Say the word, Ben, and I’ll hold ‘em off while you break out the one-

oh-six.”

Murphy snorted. “And what’ll you bet they don’t have crosshairs on us right

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now?” He pointed up to the high tower of the castle that dominated the town. A

skyrocket rose from the tower’s base as he pointed.

“You really think the captain would do that?” Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. “Maybe not. But what about Mason? Or Elliot?”

“Yeah. I forgot about Sergeant Major Elliot,” Rez-nick said. “Guess they all went

over when Captain Galloway shot Colonel Parsons. And Elliot’s just the man to

see we don’t get away.” He squinted up toward the castle. “Up there-or hell,

maybe right over in one of those doorways with a submachine gun.”

“He wouldn’t even need that,” Murphy said. “With those goddam Tamaerthan

archers of his, Christ, they could have us stuck over with gullfeathers ‘fore you

could unsling that H&K.”

“You do think of the cheerfullest things.”

“You say what?” One of the riders drew level with Murphy and threw back her

hood. She was quite pretty, and much younger than the two soldiers. “You have

afraid?” she asked.

“Naw, I’m not afraid,” Reznick said. “Course not, Honey. I wouldn’t bring you

here if I was afraid.”

“I hear afraid,” she said. “The mounts know we afraid.”

“Just nervous in the service,” Murphy said. “To your place, if you please, Lady.

The girl started to say something, but checked herself. She halted to let Murphy

and Reznick draw ahead and the three other women catch up to her. Then she

began to chatter to them, speaking the native language far too swiftly for Murphy

to understand her words.

Murphy and Reznick rode on in silence until they reached the castle gates, which

seemed at least as mas-sive as the town portals had been. As they approached, the

gates swung open.

“Expectin’ us,” Murphy said. “Well, here we go.” He stood in his stirrups and

turned to the group behind him. “No weapons,” he said, grinning to himself. I

don’t speak this local stuff too bad, he thought. Better’n Honeypie speaks English.

“No matter what hap-pens, keep your hands off your weapons. You have seen our

star weapons. These gentry will be watching us, and their captain has weapons to

overpower any you have seen us use.”

The women nodded solemnly. The five merchant adventurers behind them looked

around uneasily.

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“They could get us bloody well killed,” Murphy said. “Tell them wives of yours I

mean it.”

“I already did,” Reznick said. “Christ, Ben, there’s times I can’t believe any of

this.”

“I know what you mean.” He shook his head wryly. “Fightin’ in Africa, ‘bout to

be finished by the Cubans and we get picked up by a goddamn flyin’ saucer. And

even then it don’t make sense. This whole planet, none of it makes sense.”

“Except to Captain Galloway.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Hell, Ben, it was you said we ought to come here...”

“You agreed,” Murphy reminded him. “I didn’t twist your arm.” He grinned.

“Anyway, I still think it was best. That paper the Cap’n sent us, it said he really

did understand things here. He knows why there’s people here, and what those

saucer critters want, and-”

“And you can believe as much of it as you want to,” Reznick said. He paused a

moment, then matched Murphy’s grin. “And we both sure as hell want to believe a

lot of it.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He led the way through the open gates.

The courtyard behind the gates smelled of burned gunpowder. It was packed with

people. Archers in kilts held them back to make a lane that Murphy’s party could

ride through. “Like MP’s,” Murphy said.

“Big deal.” Reznick squinted upwards. “Don’t look now, but there’s a sniper up in

the tower over the gate.”

“Yeah, I spotted him. Don’t matter. There’s a dozen of those archer types on the

wall up there, too. There’s sure as hell only one way to play this now.”

The wall ahead of them was taller than the first, and the gateway through it was so

narrow they had to go single file. The gate itself was a long maze-like corridor,

with two twists barely wide enough for their mounts. Then they came out into an

inner court, empty except for half a dozen richly dressed courtiers.

“Welcome,” one called. “In the name of Wanax Ganton, welcome to Castle

Edron. I am Parilios, Cham-berlain to Wanax Ganton and servant to the Lord

Pro-tector, in whose name I bid you welcome yet again.”

“Sounds good so far,” Murphy said. “Uh-we have come at the invitation of the

Lord Rick, Eqeta of

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Chelm, Great Captain General of the Forces of Drantos, Colonel of Mercenaries.

He gave the last title in

English. “We are Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafferty Reznick do Bathis,

Merchant Traders of the

Sun Lands.”

“The Lord Rick is here and awaits you eagerly,” the chamberlain said. “He has

been foretold of your coming. He bade me say that his food will be no more than

filling for his belly, and his drink no more than moisture for the tongue, until he

has spoken with you at last.”

“Fat chance the captain ever said that,” Murphy said sotto voce. “Bid the Wanax,

and the Lord Pro-tector, and Lord Rick a thousand thanks in our names, and tell

him that we came in haste to his summons.”

There was more ceremony before they were in-vited to dismount. Eventually they

were led into an antechamber. A cheerful fire blazed at one end of the room, and

there was a table laid out with wine and food. Washbasins stood on a sideboard. “I

will leave you to refresh yourselves,” their escort said. He turned a pair of

identical sand glasses, and took one with him. “I will return when this is done.”

The chamber-lain bowed and left them.

The women began to chatter, but Murphy made a sharp gesture, and they fell

quiet. He eyed the glass. “About twenty minutes. We going to take the women in

with us?”

“Why not?” Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. “This is royalist country,” he said. “Not like the south where

we were. And the girls aren’t exactly out of the nobility-”

“Dirdre and Marva are now,” Reznick said. “Mar-ried me, didn’t they? That

makes them as good as anybody.”

“Okay if you say so. Wonder where the bloody plumbing is?”

“Through there, I’d say,” Reznick said. He walked over to a small curtained

doorway and looked inside. “Yep. Looks to me like it hangs out over the

town. Shall we go relieve ourselves on the commoners?”

“Cap’n?”

Rick Galloway turned from the window as one of the skyrockets burst in crimson.

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