Excerpt
Chapter One
A Rescue
In the rack and ruin of the Kalugu — in a courtyard once given to Yunocker ceremony, crouched a young Cetrone, clutching her child. She had fled here from the Gonada Gigaha — the place of execution, when it fell to Lord Belmundus’ attack. Confusion reigned and this mother lost her way through the blazing streets of the Banetuckle and clan houses, finally slipping through a crack in the walls of the Mordanka — the Yunocker Custom and Accounting House. The place had been destroyed from the roof down, its gargoyles and statuary having toppled into the courtyard. The woman sought refuge in this unlikely place, because she feared her overlords and knew this was their inner sanctum. She knew they kept the kennels here — growling Tludachi and terrifying Zugginaks. But the place seemed empty — Yunocker, Tludachi and Zugginak free — or so she thought until she heard an ominous growl — a Zugginak with its ugly canine head swaying to catch the scent of fresh meat. Its sniffing grew intense, drool seeping from jowls, dripping to the broken cobblestones as the beast detected both mother and child.
The woman, Naniyusgi of the tlugu clan, was sqwallen free. She had wits enough to get her and little Mamayuk this far. So she dived behind a fallen alabaster head — a great portrait of a hero regulati from the past. Here she held her breath, little Mamayuk’s mouth and her waddly wazzoo. The Zugginak approached, blindly but with blood on its tongue and flesh scent on its nostrils.
Suddenly, fire burst from above the courtyard, from the high shell of the remaining wall. Naniyusgi gazed up, as did the Zugginak. A strange craft zoomed overhead — a flying machine similar to a Yunocker Cabriolin, but sleeker and swifter. Nanyusgi recognized the invader Cetrone force whipping across the sky, firing red smoke at the pursuing Yunockers. She could tell from the leader’s headdress that he was from her clan, only he wasn’t. He was from the far lands across the Forling desert, beyond the Dodaloo mountains. Her breath hitched — enthralled by the nearby fighting crew, yet afraid to call out and reveal her position to the Zugginak. But the dog beast could find her blindly — even deafly if it wanted lunch. So Naniyusgi did shout to the high flyers, catching the attention of several. They seemed committed to battle, so a solitary Cetrone woman and her child was no tactical deterrent.
The Zugginak returned its attention to the meal, growling louder and leaning on its haunches, set to pounce. But it was distracted again. A whistle. A strange zigzagging whistle calling its attention away from the crouching mother-child meal.
“You’re an ugly thing, you know,” said a warrior from a near distance.
Naniyusgi was stunned. The warrior was tall and war worn, a spectacle of patches. Beyond him stood a similar warrior, a Yunocker draped in a faded blue asana and a broken breastplate. The closer warrior continued his whistling — a taunt.
“Yes, Buhippus,” he said. “He’s an ugly one, indeed.”
“I would say so, my lord.”
“I wonder if this new fangled Stick will work.”
“They call it a blundaboomer.”
“So they do.”
He whistled again. The Zugginak turned quickly, changing its mind. Its dinner would be brawnier and juicier than mere mother and child. It prepared to spring, but was caught by a blast — a fiery red gust of smoke and flame turning the beast into seared steaks and chops.
“Works fine, my lord,” Buhippus said, whipping his own blundaboomer about. “I get the next one.”
Naniyusgi shuffled further behind the head, Mamayuk crying now, scared no doubt by the explosion. The Cetrone woman seamed more fearful of her rescuers. She recognized a threat, one as menacing as the Zugginak. And there was a Yunocker charging towards her now.
“Now, now,” Buhippus said. “Do not be afraid. We mean you no harm.”
“But you are the enemy,” she cried.
“The enemy?” Buhippus laughed. “I am a Yunocker, but I am no destroyer of Trone.”
Naniyusgi wasn’t convinced. She stared at the tall one — her rescuer from the beast’s jaws. She held her waddly wazzoo up, perhaps to deter him from coming closer. It did not work.
“Please, my lady,” said the warrior. “I mean you no harm.”
The tall warrior peered over the alabaster head, and then smiled at the child.
“There, there, little one. I am not so scary as to haunt your dreams. I do not have nine heads like the Zinbear or saber teeth like the Tludachi. I am no more than a Thirdling.
“A Thirdling,” Naniyusgi cried, holding her waddly wazzoo higher, shaking it like a torch. “You cannot talk to me. It is forbidden.”
“Why so?”
“Madam,” Buhippus said. “Have you not been aware that we have liberated the Kalugu? You are free.”
“Yet, I am still here. The beasts still roam”
“We are the cure,” Buhippus said.
“But he is a Thirdling.”
“I am,” said the warrior. “I am Ayelli.”
The woman hid her eyes, her lamp set aside, her child clutched closer.
“To speak with you means death in the Porias.”
“No. It cannot be that.” He touched her shoulder, trying to gain eye contact. “I am Parnasus, the Danuwa of the Didaniyisgi, Lord Belmundus.”
“Lord Belmundus,” she murmured.
“Yes. You are safe. Look at me. Please. Shed your fear.”
Naniyusgi slowly uncovered her face, looking into the bright blue of Parnasus’ eyes. He was a fair youth despite the battle dirt. His blonde hair was matted, but his features were easy, much less threatening than the Zugginak.
“Can it be so?” she whispered. “Can you speak to me and I will not be punished for it?”
“No punishment. Come. Smile.”
She tried, in vain, Mamayuk squirming further into her embrace.
“You are under my protection,” Parnasus proclaimed. “No harm shall come to you. No one in Farn will press you into service or take your child from you.”
“It will be so,” Buhippus said. “Parnasus is an Ayelli of his word.”
“Yes, I am.”
“But sir,” she replied meekly. “Where am I to go? Am I to follow you into battle?”
“That would not do. No. No. First, what is your name?”
“I am a Trone,” she said. “I have no name.”
“You do have a name. I know this for a fact. My comrade in arms is a Cetrone and he once said he had no name. But he is oginali and his name is Yustichisqua. So, tell me your name and I shall not abuse it.”
She thought and thought long and hard. Was this a trick — an Ayelli trick — a Yunocker ruse? Would she say her name and be enrolled to feed the Tludachi? Would she be tossed over the walls onto the kowlinka to become porcoporian food? What was she to do? But her fate was decided by her child, because the boy looked into Parnasus’ eyes and spoke.
“I am Mamayuk, sir, and I am afraid.”
“Do not be afraid, Mamayuk.”
Parnasus reached for the child, who leaped into his arms. Parnasus bounced him about, his mother objecting just a little. Then the battle overhead renewed.
“Tosawa is doing his job,” Buhippus said. “This space will collapse before long.”
“True,” Parnasus said, returning Mamayuk to his mother. “We must get them to safety. Take them to the Loribringus. I believe I saw one near the southern breach.”
“Where is that?” the woman asked.
“A land ship,” Buhippus replied. “We have stuffed them with refugees until we can establish a base camp outside the Kalugu.”
“We shall die there.”
Parnasus crouched down.
“No, you shall not.” He sighed, and then removed a blue stone medallion from around his neck. “Wear this. If anyone asks say that you are under the protection of Lord Parnasus Danuwa of the Didaniyisgi. Show them this and they will know.”
“It is aniniya my lord. My hands will melt.”
“They will not. Put it on. There. Good. Now, what will you say?”
She hesitated.
“Say it, woman,” Buhippus commanded.
“I am in service to Lord Parnasus Danuwa of the Didaniyisgi.”
“Not in service,” Parnasus said. He held her hand, wrapping the strands of the waddly wazzoo about her fingers. “Protection. I shall come for my sigil and when you return it I shall find a place for you and your son.” He kissed her hands. “I promise.”
“We must hurry, my lord,” Buhippus said. “This place shall be engulfed soon.”
“Yes. Go. Follow Buhippus. He shall take you to the Loribringus.”
Buhippus arose on his zulus and, upon seeing that the woman had no such sandals, gripped her arm, giving her and the child a proper lift. Parnasus bowed to them as they drifted out of the courtyard. Suddenly, they halted, the woman looking back.
“Naniyusgi, my lord. My name is Naniyusgi.”
He touched his breastplate, and then bowed.
“Go with the grace of Hedonacaria, my lady. May Zacker arise again to fame and fortune.”
He arose on his zulus, drew his blundaboomer and joined the tlugu clan in the sky battle.
“He called me a lady,” Naniyusgi murmured.
“Yes,” Buhippus replied. “It is a new day for Zacker, Ayelli and Yunockers alike. Rejoice that your child will breathe the free air of Montjoy and be under the wing of the great lords on the hill.”
A new day, indeed.
Adadooski. Arkmo.


Chapter Two
A Directive
1
Under the smoky shine of Solus and Dodecadatamus, Fort Tarhellis stood, its kaybar walls casting a shadow from the high hill over the Yuganawu to the east and the Yuyutlu to the west. The spirit of that umbra cast over the broad Yunocker emporium, the Dunedin and the narrower Gurt market, the Byybykyyip. Both marketplaces were rife with alarm, smoke drifting throughout Montjoy, the Kalugu ablaze and battles raging near the Forling Gates and in the southern suburbs.
Praetors rushed through the fashionable district of the Yuganawa seeking intelligence and safety, their own estates coming under fire. Regulati, in platoons of twenty, herded the majorins and minorins back to homes and places of business. There was no need for alarm, they proclaimed; believed by some, but by the majority, not. Force became the only viable option. For every citizen who questioned a regulati order, a warrior was prevented from joining the defense of Montjoy against renegade Trone from the Kalugu and invading forces from beyond the Forling.
Gurts, in the Byybykyyip and the surrounding Ryyves, especially the Ryyve Aniniya with its rich mineral supply and weapons stash, proved more concerning. They generally kept to their craft — under control by the Ryyvytys and their Zecronesian allies. Now they escaped toils in the Ryyves and crossed the borders into the Dunedin, the Yuyutlu verging on rebellion. Retribution talk gripped the air, talk of an Ayelli intervention. Whispering about of the Zinbear buzzed. A lack of information spun rumors spreading from the Lyspykyn to the Myrkpykyn. That there had been an invasion from the desert was confirmed. But soon the Gurts clutched their young, fearful of an attack from the denizens of the kowlinka — ravenous Gasuntsgi, vicious Noya Tludachi, hideous porcorporian and . . . raging Tippagores. The end of all. Never had Montjoy been in such turmoil; not since the days when the Great Kuriakis had arrived and exiled the House of Zacker from the realm.
So Solus and Dodecadatamus were cloaked by ugly ashen clouds. The clatter of Sticks and bombs were heard from the Gulliwailit Bridge to the heights of Fort Tarhellis, where the City Chief watched the mayhem from the parapet, his ugly jowls uncaring as to who fell or stood in the wake of his commandments.
2
“I should let it burn,” Tarhippus growled as he glanced down at the fires. “I should let it all burn.”
“If it is your wish, my lord,” said his second in command, Morfanta Charhinkla.
Tarhippus reeled about, grabbing his gwasdi, threatening to thrash any thing in his way.
“Of course it’s not my wish, you cowardly ass.”
Charhinkla knelt, his arms spread wide.
“I obey you in all things,” he blurted. “If you command it, I shall do it.”
“Of course you will do it, but don’t take my black thoughts as commands — at least until they become commands.”
Charhinkla was not the only regulati who knelt. The cadre arrayed behind their Morfanta, their arms outstretched, heads lowered and on both knees instead of one. Who knew where Tarhippus’ fiery lash would strike? He often tested its strength on the nearest warrior, and that in peace time. In war, who knew his limits, if he had any?
“Up. All of you. You do me no service imitating the carpet. Up.”
They complied.
“What are your orders, my lord?” Charhinkla asked.
“That depends on the state of affairs.” He glanced again out the window. “We should have overrun those bastards by now. But it looks like the fuckers have some fight. Well, at least the Didaniyisgi is gone.”
“Tappiolus reports that Lord Belmundus was exiled by Kuriakis and is no longer in Farn.”
“That’s the least boon Kuriakis could grant.” He shook his fist toward the high hills of the Ayelli. “All he does is stir. Why doesn’t he wave his great staff over the Cetrone bastards and turn them into ash. He has done so before. He can turn Solus on a course into Dodecadatamus if he wanted. But no. He remains silent. Declaring Yichiyusti and turning the sky green hasn’t brought the enemy to bend a knee to the Elector. But no. Just his green sky and keeping to his halls. Perhaps he wants us to self-destruct.”
“Lord Tappiolus does not say,” Charhinkla said.
“Where is Lord Tappiolus?”
“He has retreated to Mortis House.”
“Coward that he is.” Tarhippus raised the gwasdi again, Charhinkla and company flinching. But the chief grinned, satisfied that power’s mere suggestion made others tremble. “At least Belmundus had balls. I don’t regret his banishment, but I certainly respect a Consort with balls. Tappiolus talks a good game, but hasn’t mustered any support from the hill. No. We’re on our own.”
Tarhippus strutted through his war chamber, his cadre giving him wide berth.
“Your orders, my lord.”
“Silence,” Tarhippus shouted. “Let that be order enough. I’m in mourning for my favorite zugginaks. They dared hack them to fillets and tossed them into the Gulliwailit. Hell, the Cetrone Seneschal thought he got the best of me in his feeble air boat. What is that to our mighty force? What do you have to say to that, Morfanta?”
Charhinkla hesitated, stammering feebly, but soon caught his lord’s terrifying glare.
“They have some advantages, my lord.”
“Good. Speak up. Tell me so I might know better. I hate guessing.”
“They have a fast new Cabriolin which they call a . . .” He looked toward another regulati, a short officer, who immediately stepped up.
“Seecoys,” he said, smartly.
“Seecoys,” Tarhippus echoed. “Odd name. And what makes them better than our contraptions?
“They are faster,” Charhinkla replied, but stopped at that, nodding to the other officer.
“Faster, yes,” the officer said. “They are Aniniya based, but there is a touch of Brashun in the mix. They are also designed to exclude the eroding effects of the kowlinka and thus can cross the Forling — a feat, indeed.”
“Clever bastards.”
“I believe they have been aided by others.”
Tarhippus turned to this officer.
“Who are you?”
The officer bowed.
“I am Ringcarus, son of Bingcarus.”
“Bingcarus the Praetor?”
“The same, my lord.”
Tarhippus stared at Charhinkla as if to demote him on the spot, but then cuffed Ringcarus’ shoulders, walking him about the chamber.
“Tell me. Who would dare help the Cetrone to cross the Forling?”
“Fumarcas.”
“From the Dodingdaten? Interesting. What else gives them advantage? I noticed they fire unusual bombs that somehow allow them to pass through phitron walls.”
“Yes, my lord. They call it gingergust or wadi-wadi. It transforms phitron into kaybar.”
“Damn them.”
“But only for a short period — a period of advantage. They have many versions of this weaponry in their arsenal.”
“We must learn the interval so we may undermine their advantage.”
“To the count of eighty, my lord.”
Tarhippus halted, gazing into Ringcarus’ eyes.
“Are you a spy, Ringcarus, Son of Bingcarus?”
“No, my lord. I was at the great gate when they first attacked. It was a diversion, but it was fierce. Led by Lord Belmundus’ Taleenay.”
Tarhippus shut his eyes, bearing his teeth and turning back to the window.
“I know that piss ant, I do. He was an upstart of the worst kind — a rebel and destined for the Porias.” He turned. “If nothing else is accomplished, I want this Taleenay. I will skin him alive, and then spike his head on the Gulliwailit Bridge and dangle his balls on the Yuyutlu gate.”
“There is more, my lord,” Ringcarus said, glancing at his Morfanta, who frowned.
“Do tell.”
“They have talking machines.”
Tarhippus laughed.
“They have taught these Seecoys to speak.”
“No, my lord. They have devices to talk to one another over a distance.”
“How is that possible?”
The entire crew buzzed in disbelief, but Ringcarus raised a hand.
“I have heard them. They speak into them and tell our position and control the field maneuvers. I think they call it a bing bong.”
“Bing bong?”
“That is the sound it makes when activated. Truly amazing.”
“A trick from Protractus, no doubt. Oh, Kuriakis, where’s your clout?”
“I have no notion, my lord. No notion.”
Suddenly, the chamber door opened, and a battle worn warrior hastened over the threshold. Tarhippus raised his gwasdi. Everyone was on their knees again.
“How dare anyone interrupt a war council?”
He thrashed the warrior’s back.
“My lord, my lord,” the warrior whimpered. “Praetor Feronicus and a delegation are here. They demand an audience.”
“Demand,” Tarhippus shrieked, but then kicked the warrior over, hunkering down. “I suppose since they’re Praetors we ought to give them some time and a piece of my mind. What say you?”
“As you wish, my lord. As you wish.”
“Of course, I do not wish it. This is not a time for politicians and damned fools. But I suppose we must take a step or two in unity.” He stood. “I suppose it must be so. On your feet. Show them in.”
The warrior tripped to his feet.
“Wipe the blood from your hands and do not show them your back. Be presentable. They are the reason we keep the peace and enforce the law, you know. Give me a count to twenty, and then escort them in.”
Tarhippus marched to his council chair, signaling the crew to be upstanding. He then assumed his chair, his gwasdi tightly gripped. He did miss his favorite zugginak at his side, but he’d train up another before the day was out. The great doors opened.
3
Tarhippus’ mind roved while the delegation filed into the hall. Who were they to impose their will? he thought. They never interfered before — they wouldn’t dare. But now here they were, Feronicus in his long silver robe and his bimkapanis coronet as if he were the King of Byypypytu. He was no such thing — just a yedalas lord who controlled the salt monopoly at the Ryyve Pykyn, which was a mighty big deal, but nothing if it wasn’t protected. Tarhippus kept the Ryyves safe. So who ruled the roost now?
Ten Praetors floated on golden zulus behind Feronicus, who bowed gently before Tarhippus.
“To what do I owe this honor, Feronicus?” Tarhippus grunted.
“If you need ask, perhaps we have come to the wrong fortress,” Feronicus replied, impatience in his voice.
“No,” Tarhippus grumbled. “Tarhellis is the place you need.” He stood. “I suppose you find the situation unsettling.”
“It is outrageous,” Feronicus said. “How did the Trone breech Montjoy’s walls?”
“A better question is how did they cross the Forling, although I believe I have a notion how, damned Fumarcas. But if you fear for your lives, you might consider suicide now and save the underlings the trouble.”
Feronicus huffed, as did the others, but Tarhippus raised his gwasdi and laughed.
“I have a strategy, my lords,” he said. “My humor is dry, but my intent is wet — a hot steaming retribution for all those who defy the laws and statutes of Montjoy. I know my duty. The ink on my Certificate of Indoctrination has never dried.”
“So, what do you mean to do?”
“Separate the jomar from the quillifoil — a threshing floor of blood and dust — Trone blood and dust, and that of any traitor who does not uphold the order.”
“Forgive me, Lord Tarhippus,” Feronicus said. “Ugly turns of phrase and agricultural metaphors do not serve us now. Action is the only word now. Things are ill — very ill, indeed.”
“We were accosted by three Gurts on our way here,” another Praetor piped.
“There is talk of Zecronesian involvement,” Feronicus added.
“Do not fear the Gurts,” Tarhippus replied. “We can easily control the Gurts. And the Zecronesians are as loath to leave their three breasted women as you are to leave the shade of your verandahs.”
“Still, we are here.”
“So you are.”
“And what does Lord Kuriakis say?”
“He keeps his own council. His emissary has withdrawn up the hill. I await his return.” Tarhippus scanned his cadre, catching Charhinkla’s eye. “However, I mean to take action. I will issue a directive.” He waved his gwasdi, and Charhinkla responded, producing an egg-sized silver ball. “Give it here.”
“Will a directive serve?”
“This one will.”
He took the ball from Charhinkla, raising it to his eye, his ugly mug reflected on the surface.
“I, Tarhippus, son of Gruhippus, General of the Standing Army and City Chief of Police, declare that the kaleezos shall be purged of all Trone. They shall be turned out from every house in Montjoy and incarcerated in the Porias awaiting my pleasure. All Trone, resident, refugee and invader will also be rounded up and cast into the Porias. All resisters shall be shot on sight. All other citizens, be they Yunocker, Ayelli, Gurt or Zecronesian, who assists, harbors or otherwise provides succor and shelter to Trone will suffer their fate — death on sight. So I direct.”
He held the ball high, Charhinkla producing a golden korinkle, holding it open by the draw strings. Suddenly, the ball burst into a shattering of silver light, the flickers floating into the sack, which Charhinkla sealed, bowing three times and mumbling it is directed.
“Now,” Tarhippus roared. “Any other questions?”
“Who shall serve us if you take away the Trone?” Praetor Feronicus asked.
“When I have settled the nation, the Porias will populate your kitchens and spare beds again, fear not. In the meanwhile, graze in your gardens and tote your own jugs. Regard it as doing your part for the war effort.”
Feronicus scowled, but what could he do. Tarhippus knew they were dependant on their City Chief. He commanded the regulati. Once the Porias was filled and the fallen traitors fed to the zugginaks and Tludachi, the Praetors would fall into line — peace being the best state for them. He sat with a dismissive wag of his gwasdi. Feronicus did not hesitate. He huffed, scowled, but arose on his zulus and floated out of the war room, the others following.
Suddenly, Tarhippus stood again.
“Is Praetor Bingcarus in this delegation?”
One Praetor returned to the chamber.
“Yes,” he stated.
“Excellent,” Tarhippus said. “I would like to compliment you on your son.” Father and son nodded to each other. “He is quite the observer and, in fact, you will have great pleasure in knowing that effective immediately he shall be my new Morfanta.”
Ringcarus bowed, his father also nodding to Tarhippus.
“It is an honor, sir,” Bingcarus said.
Charhinkla scowled now, huffing and chuffing. The Praetor turned and crossed the threshold. Once the doors shut, Charhinkla tightened his grip on the directive bag.
“Do not fret, Charhinkla,” Tarhippus said. “You shall be promoted to Sorifanta, and will oversee the distribution of this directive. See that the korinkle is emptied and spread through all Montjoy by sunsset. Then we shall meet the invaders where they stand and send them to the darkness of Zin.”
Charhinkla did not seem impressed by the promotion — an oversight position. Tarhippus didn’t care. He liked this firecracker Bingcarus and his knowledge of things Cetrone. Once Charhinkla departed with the korinkle, the council was over, the cadre departing, Tarhippus having promised them much activity to enforce the directive, and then a bloody battle to end the incursion. Tarhippus sat silently as they filed out, their zulus buzzing along the phitron floor.
“One moment,” Tarhippus said to Ringcarus, detaining him. “Your first act is to select two zugginaks from the Gashnigore to replace my poor bloodthirsty darlings.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Chose well — ugly, gnarly, big and harness worthy.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tarhippus closed his eyes. He already saw his chariot blazing into battle, these new beasts pulling him along, fire at their feet, smoke at the wheels. He saw the enemy and, at its head, his brother Buhippus.
“Yes, all traitors shall die,” he muttered. “Every last one.”
The sons of Gruhippus were at odds and, in that, the Yunockers most fatal flaw blossomed.
Chapter Three
The Floodtide
1
The korinkle’s content was unleashed throughout Montjoy, the directive spilling its command — the kaleezos shall be purged of all Trone. Trone shall be turned out from every house in Montjoy. Trone shall be incarcerated in the Porias awaiting the City Chief’s pleasure. All Trone, resident, refugee and invader alike, will also be rounded up and cast into the Porias. Resisters shall be shot on sight. All other Montjovians, be they Yunocker, Ayelli, Gurt or Zecronesian, who assist, harbor or otherwise provide succor or shelter to Trone will suffer the same fate — death on sight.
Thus the regulati drove through the Yuganawu, citizens of every caste looking for guidance, never imagining their kaleezos would be emptied. But squads of regulati banged on doors, inspected closets and attics, and rounded up every Trone in service and not Kalugu bonded.
Some Yunockers protested losing their servants, but they were made to understand that, if they resisted, the Katorias would accommodate them, if not death. As for the Cetrone, they didn’t fully comprehend the event. They had heard rumors of a rebellion in the Kalugu and perhaps the unthinkable — an invasion from their long lost cousins from across the Forling. There were tales of Lord Belmundus and the return of Seneschal Cosawta. Those puzzled Cetrone who asked about the situation were quickly silenced, felled in the streets or collected in pokiepens destined for the bone grinders. So servants — men, women and children — many, many children, were pushed, pulled, carried and otherwise rousted on their zulus in long chain gangs heading for the Porias. Much weeping. Much screaming. But the Sticks were busy and screaming wasn’t tolerated, thinning the parade down to the weeping and sniffling. Sqwallen-addled Trone were easiest to transport. They shuffled just inches above the road, following their masters like awidena led to fleecing.
There were a few incidents among the majorin, who had trained their Trone for accounting and record keeping. Invaluable. So a delegation of majorin assembled near the Montjoy Mercantile Exchange to protest. At first, given the worthies’ status, the regulati commander reasoned with them. He sprinkled some directive dust into the air, Tarhippus’ words repeating themselves like thunder. The delegation leader extended respect for these words, but, as he put it, there were Trone and then there were Trone — the mercantile Tron, the Exchange’s heartbeat. They couldn’t be spared. And even if they were replaced in peace time, the cost of raising a new brood of mathematical Trone would be too expensive. Thus the majorin stood their ground, and thus they fell as the commander lost patience and fulfilled the directive to the last shimmer. The extraordinary Trones were taken by force, many struck down proclaiming their elite status. They would make a particularly exquisite meal for the tludachi.
2
Buhippus watched this activity through a curious spyglass — a rarity called a gespocular, taken from a fallen Cetrone squad leader. He watched as the regulati beat and killed and pushed and maimed the Trone. His teeth clenched as he observed the brutality of his own race. He knew many Yunockers who would never ill-treat their Trone; those who secretly fed them well and, in some cases, bed them regularly.
“Tarhippus,” he grunted, focusing the glass. “Brother, this is your doing. Your hatred has spread like the gingergust that will take you down.”
Buhippus had been perched on the pylon of the Gulliwailit Bridge, a viewpoint giving him clear sight of both the Porias and the Katorias. The Cetrone had taken the bridge and secured the surrounding neighborhood. A battle across the green sky, led by Danuwa Tosawa of the tlugu clan, knocked the Yunocker Cabriolins out, three to one. Casualties, there were many — on both side. But Tosawa’s fellow Danuwa held the neighborhood while the regulati retreated, now to fulfill Tarhippus’ directive.
Buhippus spied Danuwa Cheowie of the geetli clan in a palaver with his counterpart from the chisqua clan, Estatoie. Both keen warriors, they never seemed battle weary. Buhippus wondered if these men were planning an assault. It wouldn’t be wise. Best to regroup. Buhippus palmed a strange contraption that Lord Belmundus had given to him, a device called a sillifoon. He flipped it opened and hoped he remembered how to operate it.
Bing bong.
“Yes, yes,” he stammered. “KindredSpirit2 here. Ken it?”
“I ken it,” came the response.
“Who be?”
“BowWow2.”
“Fine and dandy,” Buhippus said, breaking code. It was Cheowie, the bow wow of the dog clan. “Planning a picnic?”
“The cloth is spread. You ken it?”
“I ken it. Hold the mustard. I have cake to bake.”
“Bring it now or miss the three legged race. Do you ken it?”
“I ken it. Over and ouch.”
Silly language this, Buhippus reflected, but Lord Belmundus had invented it deriving references from a ceremonial feast practiced in the outlands. Although no Yunocker used a device like the sillifoon, any Fumarca in the know, and willing to sell tactical and strategic information, could ken it by tapping into the branchie-wanchie. So, Buhippus uttered this nonsense into the shiny hand-held box. He marveled at the convenience and the invention’s power.
From his perch to the Danuwa was a short flight on zulus and, as he approached, a third Danuwa, Oustestee of the alisoqua clan raced upon the scene in his Seecoy, his great bear headdress flapping in the wind.
“Hoy,” Oustestee shouted. “Ally of my ally. Have you seen what I have seen?”
“Yes,” Buhippus shouted back, assuming the reference.
“Captain Buhippus,” Cheowie said, greeting him with a full salute. “Have you seen Tosawa?”
“Yes. He is managing affairs in the Kalugu with Lord Parnasus.”
“There are many dead,” Estatoie remarked, shaking his head. “We were just discussing how it is time to move the fight to Montjoy’s citizenry.”
“That would not be wise,” Buhippus replied.
“I realize you are Yunocker, Captain, and are protective of your people, but when you support us, sacrifice must be made.”
Buhippus’ eyes flashed. He stepped into this conference like a bull.
“How dare you question my loyalties after the sacrifice I’ve made? I thrashed my brother and tossed him in the river. Tarhippus may be the biggest gugubasgi in Farn, but he’s my blood. We grew up playing in the same sandbox. So don’t you ever question my sacrifice again.”
All three Danuwa bowed, spreading their arms out.
“I meant no insult,” Estatoie said. “I merely questioned your perspective.”
Buhippus snorted, and then pointed to the pylon of the Gulliwailit Bridge.
“There’s my perspective, young Cetrone.” He raised the gespocular. “I saw events that would break your heart, because it has broken mine. You may want to run amok in the Yunocker neighborhoods, but while you do, your brethren are incarcerated in the Porias. Many fall in the process. The pokiepen are filled with the dead and the dying. Yet you want to play grusoker in Montjoy’s center, burning and looting that which can be easily replaced. Your brethren cannot be replaced.”
“The captain is correct,” Oustestee replied. “I saw as much in my sweep over the river basin. I surveyed the eastern flank from the Forling to Tarhellis. The regulati are not preparing for battle. They are pressing our people into the ground. There soon will be a greater plight in the Porias than ever there had been in the Kalugu.”
Estatoie and Cheowie stood dumfounded, and then called for their Seecoys.
”You do not believe me?” Oustestee asked.
“We do,” Estatoie replied. “We must stop these crimes now.”
“Agreed,” Cheowie snapped. “We must storm the Porias and free all.”
Buhippus shook his head, and then raised his Stick, shooting a blast into the Yichiyusti sky.
“Is this the course Lord Belmundus would take?” he shouted. “Would Yustichisqua be so reckless?”
Just then Tosawa arrived, many Seecoys at his back.
“Brothers,” he shouted. “We must make a plan.”
“Finally,” Buhippus cried. “The smart one has arrived.”
Tosawa jumped from his Seecoy, marching to the center of the conference.
“I have seen much from my position, so much that I dared not use my sillifoon for the lack of code to express it.” He corralled them. “In the absence of a navakawee, might I suggest we take inventory of our wadi-wadi and in-wadi? I believe our liberation goal — the one set out by Lord Belmundus, is not complete. The time for offense and defense will come, but we must approach the Porias as a new challenge. For that we need wadi-wadi, fast Seecoys and Fustigars to carry our burdens to safety. Those Cetrone who would join us, as examples from the Kalugu, are welcomed to earn their freedom.”
Buhippus gazed at young Tosawa. Yustichisqua had chosen well here. The others were brave and loyal, but were too quick to action and less prone to planning. They had followed keen orders until now, but without the hand of Belmundus or Cosawta, they ran the risk of being warrior farmers. But this one — this Tosawa; he knew his stuff.
“I agree,” Buhippus said. “If I’m allowed a say in the matter, I encourage an inventory of ordinance and a proper assault on the prison.”
“It’s phitron, after all,” Tosawa said. “We know how to handle that obstacle.”
“And more, since Taleenay Detonto proved that wadi-wadi manipulates more than just phitron,” Estatoie stated.
“As for your right of say in these matters, Captain Buhippus,” Tosawa said. “I regard you as Lord Belmundus’ proxy. Your word overrules and mitigates.”
He saluted Buhippus, who now regretted his former outburst. These Cetrone warriors were good lads, indeed. He would never doubt them again.
“You honor me,” he stammered. “But you will honor me more by getting your boobooyaks in gear. Assemble your forces at the foot of the bridge. I know the Porias and its environs well. I can guide your plan’s formation. There’s a patch of earth over there. Gather around it. I’ll draw a map.”
He zoomed on his zulus to the spot, the Cetrone cadre following eagerly.
3
Parnasus joined the main force. He had been attending the rear guard, particularly checking the Loribringus and the safety of Naniyusgi and her son. He spotted her sitting comfortably amidst a bevy of matrons, whom he hoped assured her that the worst was over. He dared not confront her. She fascinated him — a draw on his heart, which he had never known even with the many Thirdlings he brokered in the tryst game. If he spoke to Naniyusgi now, he would be tempted to stay and comfort her. But he knew his duty. It was with the Cetrone main forces, and at Captain Buhippus’ side. After all, hadn’t he and the good captain shoveled kennel shit together?
In route to the main force, Parnasus surveyed the Forling gates. He saw a dozen porcorporians stunned into service, harnessed with jipsum covered Sittiquo ropes. He had only seen these creatures once before, on a hunting trip with the Pod, when Tappiolus put one in Lord Belmundus’ way — a trick to end the consort’s run. Parnasus saw a brave thing that day — Yustichisqua slay the porcorporian with his brashun blade — gasohisgi. The harnessing of these beasts took a mighty hand to control. Parnasus imagined that many Cetrone would die riding on them through enemy lines. But now the command had come to gather the weaponry, the Fustigars and as many warriors and civilians that could be mustered to liberate the Porias.
“I am here,” Parnasus said to Buhippus as together they crouched behind a line of roofs within sight of the prison.
“So you are, my lord,” the Captain replied, grinning. ”Like a bee from the honey pot.”
“Is it obvious?”
“All men are moved by womankind unless they have sworn to the love of other men or to the love of none.” He winked. “I saw it in your eyes when you asked me to escort the maid to safety.”
“It’s a notion, no more than that.” Parnasus peeked over the edge of the Seecoy — Tosawa’s Seecoy. “What’s the plan?”
“The enemy knows it better than we,” Tosawa replied from the vehicle’s fore. “But they can only guess at our strength and position”
“Every Cabriolin that has tried to fly over us has been blown from the sky,” Buhippus confirmed.
“And they have no sillifoons,” Tosawa added. “Their signal flags were working, but the effect is guesswork, much to our advantage.”
“So, the plan is to wait?” Parnasus asked.
“Not in the least,” Buhippus replied. “Your arrival’s timely.”
“My blundaboomer’s at the ready.”
“No need,” Tosawa said. “You and the captain must latch on to my shoulder if you wish to pass through the walls. Can you count to eighty?”
Parnasus grinned, leapt forward, grasping Tosawa’s right shoulder.
“Just tell me when to start.”
“You shall know it, when the world blurs and the walls swim about your head. Captain, to my left.”
Buhippus complied. He also clasped Parnasus’ free hand, doubling the Cetrone contact in the off-chance they should become detached.
Bing bong.
“BowWow2 here. Let the horseshoes fly. Ken it?”
“I ken it,” Tosawa answered. “Over and ouch.”
Suddenly, the sound of bing bong filled the air as the squads prepared for the approach, the Fustigars moving first. At once, two squads of regulati appeared, firing Sticks with accuracy and good effect. Still, the Fustigars came, letting loose the first wadi-wadi volleys at the Porias’ high walls. With this first volley, the Seecoys dashed into the waffling phitron. Another round of fire from the Sticks took several warriors off course, but another wave traveled behind them, the Fustigars continuing their pitch.
“It is our turn,” Tosawa announced.
Parnasus felt an exhilaration he had never experienced before — a white hot frenzy matchless in his young soul. He wanted to shout his best war whoop, but the sound wouldn’t come, the wind melting it to a grunt — a contented grunt. The walls approached. He noticed the phitron’s black surface turning to a liquid pink morass, much like mongerhide mush.
“Count,” Buhippus commanded.
Parnasus began at one, trying to time the effort — a proper interval. The walls smudged surrounded him, the uncomfortable squeeze of a suffocating blanket. His eyes couldn’t focus, but he managed to count, praying that these walls were not as thick as they appeared from the outside. Then before he reached the count of sixty-two, the world changed — the blackness of the prison opening up. He saw dozens of Seecoys pressing through the cells, firing freely at the prison fanta, who were prepared for them. However, they were no match for the countless warriors emerging through the phitron.
Gangs of Cetrone were chained together, marched through the prison courtyard toward their final destination. The Yunockers tried their best to ward off the rescuers, but once the first prisoners were freed, their shackles blasted, they joined in the fray, beating their captors to the ground.
“Let us crash the cells asunder,” Tosawa said.
Parnasus grabbed his blundaboomer, while Buhippus managed his Stick. They flew to the reception hall, where the fanta were processing their prey. When the Seecoy entered, the fanta overturned the tables and assaulted the Trone. Parnasus jumped from the Seecoy, rushing to an old man’s aid, blasting his oppressor with a single satisfying shot. The old man looked gratefully to Parnasus, and then died from his wounds — free and grinning. Liberation meant honorable interment for many. Still, once the fanta realized that they were outmanned, they fled into the holding pens, killing as many prisoners as they could before being struck down by the Cetrone warriors.
Parnasus opened the prison doors, his weapon handy to the task. This part of the prison held long term prey, not that many lasted long in the Porias. But these Trone were haggard and could hardly stand. Parnasus lifted a man to his shoulders and passed him to Buhippus. Suddenly, a chain of warriors passed the infirm into a Fustigar, which managed to make a break through to the courtyard. The wadi-wadi was still working, because a wave of Cetrone on foot and zulus, many from the liberated Kalugu, seeped through the walls and did their part. Regulati also arrived, but were immediately overwhelmed. Clearly, they had underestimated the resilience of their former slaves. Potent retirbution.
Bing Bong
“BuzzMe3,” Tosawa answered.
“BowWow2 I be. The toast has been taken. Taken, say I. BowWow.”
Tosawa beamed at his companions.
“Adadooski, my lords.”
Parnasus and Buhippus looked to the still intense fighting, but they had won the day or at least the hour. The Porias was liberated.
“BuzzMe3. The rain is threatening. The game might be called. Do you ken it?”
Tosawa’s jubilation melted.
“I ken it. Over and ouch.” He turned to Parnassus. “We must count again. It appears the enemy is on the move. Tarhippus has ordered them forward.”
Parnasus looked to Buhippus, who spit.
“Get that gingergust going,” Buhippus shouted. “If my brother is on the offensive, he means to overrun us to the very Forling’s edge.”
He bounded into the Seecoy before Tosawa had a chance to regain the controls. Parnasus glanced at the turmoil. This battle was won, but another was about to sweep through like high tide at full moons. He grasped Buhippus’ hand, which pulled him into the transport. The Fustigar fired at the interior wall.
“One,” Parnasus counted, and then braced for the return trip.