Free Legions of Antares by Alan Burt Akers

the wild men? Unlikely. South to that mysterious army forming in the sparse land there? Possibly. North — north to Vallia? This, in my frame of mind, seemed the most likely, and raging and cursing at myself, feeling the anxieties crowding on me, I thought how splendid it would be to burn this whole fleet.
    By Zair! That would crimp mad Thyllis’s ambitions!
    But, then — a single supply train of the air, fifty huge ships, well, they would carry a dismayingly small part of all the supplies Hamal had on the move. Still — it would be a start.
    The tragedy was, I’d have to burn the supplies, also.
    Maybe something might be arranged...
    My fondness for Paline Valley was overcoming my sworn duty. Hateful though it would be, and no matter how onerous the task, this must be done.
    Barging my way back to see Nulty, I recalled that he had said that Dray Prescot would handle things differently from Dray Prescot. Well, by the Black Chunkrah! now was his chance to see how Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, Emperor of Vallia, would handle it!

Chapter six
    Of Freedom, Fires and Flyers
    “The hospitality of Paline Valley is at your disposal, Jiktar,” I said to the officer commanding this Train of Supply. “Wine, food, music, all are yours to command. As to girls, you must pay in blood, if you wish, in that department.”
    He took my meaning.
    All the same, during the festivities in which Nulty raised his eyebrows at the lavishness of ale and wine and dopa I insisted be poured out, a couple of half-drunken voswods attempted young Pansi, who cared for the chickens in the smaller compound. The two were apprehended before much mischief had been done, although Pansi, bleeding from a bruised mouth and her dress ripped, continued to cry out of shock. I said to the Jiktar, a bulky man with a gut and a half, who squinted most dreadfully, “I am not minded to be merciful in this.”
    “It is an army matter—”
    “Not so. I am a noble of Hamal, and you are under my jurisdiction here. There will be a trial.”
    The laws of Hamal, being tighter than those of the Medes and Persians, lay down observances in all likely situations. I brought the full weight to bear, the full weight carried by a noble, which weight has been used against me enough times, to be sure. A court was set up in the outer room of the Amak’s house, a defending counsel was appointed from the supply train’s officers, our young bokkerim, that is to say lawyer, Danghandi the Quill, prosecuted, and I presided. I wanted to make it fast.
    There was no doubt as to the accuseds’ guilt, for they had been seen by dour Honglo the Surly, and Pansi swore through her tears they were the two. Defense pleaded in mitigation that the girl was unharmed. Danghandi made Pansi turn her face to the samphron oil lamps’ gleam.
    “See the bruise! See the blood!” She had not washed it off. “Harm! Who can say what her ib has suffered?”
    I said, “The case is proved. Sentence alone remains.”
    And there was the rub.
    The two voswods looked appalled, frightened, dejected. Damned fools. They deserved all they got. But, all the same, what punishment fitted this crime? The laws of Hamal had it all written out fair and square, and there was nothing I could do but endorse what the book said. The men were led off to be flogged.
    Not nice, not nice at all. I bent my head to Nulty.
    “This augurs ill.”
    “Aye, master. The soldiers drink us dry.”
    I did not say, “So much the better.” It was in my mind.
    That nasty little business kept the soldiers steadfastly at their drinking instead of roving for other pleasures. So, in Opaz’s good time, it worked to my advantage.
    I said, “In order to prevent further molestation, make sure a squad of your best young men stay alert and do not drink. They may be needed.”
    “Yes, master.”
    “I will retire now. See I am not disturbed on any pretext.”
    “Yes, master.”
    A little wind gusted the dust in the light of the torches. I entered the