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marched all the way from the capital of Franklin north and west to Rising
Rock.
"Not a lot of good stopping places on the way, though," Smitty said, which
was also true.
And there, up near those breastworks, stood General Guildenstern. The
black-bearded soldier in gray tipped back his head and swigged from a flask.
"Come on, you bastards! Dig!" he shouted. "Those traitor sons of bitches
whipped us once, but dip me in dung if they're going to whip us twice. Isn't
that right, boys?"
Heads bobbed up and down as the soldiers digging paused in the labor for a
moment. Then they went back to it, harder than ever. Dirt flew. Rollant said,
"He's not the worst general in the world, not even close. He takes pretty good
care of his men."
"No, he's not the worst, but he's not the best, either," Smitty said. "And I
wonder how much longer he'll have the chance to go on taking care of us. King
Avram's not going to like the way this battle turned out. For all you know,
Guildenstern had his beaky old nose in the brandy flask when he should have
been thinking straight."
"That's so," Rollant admitted. "Getting drunk isn't taking care of your men,
if that's what happened. But I don't know that it is, and neither do you.
People are talking about Thraxton's magic."
"People say all sorts of stupid things," Smitty observed. "Just because they
say them doesn't make them true, though Thraxton might have magicked
Guildenstern."
"I'm ready to believe anything when it comes to the northern nobles'
magecraft," Rollant said. "You never lived up there. I did." He shivered at
the memory. "By the gods, I'm glad I don't live there any more."
Smitty started to answer, then checked himself and stared in delight. Rollant
followed his gaze. "Captain Cephas!" they both exclaimed at the same time.
"Hello, boys." The company commander was thin and pale, but he was on his
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feet. "It's good to be up and moving a bit, anyhow. I hear I missed a little
something."
"Yes, sir," Rollant said. "Awfully good to see you again, sir. From what they
were saying about your wound . . ." His voice trailed off.
Cephas' hand went to the right side of his ribcage. "I've still got bandages
under my tunic," he said. "But I can walk, and I think I'll be able to fight
before too long." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "I was
lucky. The wound didn't fester at all. And they threw me off my cot because so
many soldiers hurt worse than I am started coming in."
"How's Lieutenant Benj?" Smitty asked. Benj had been wounded in the same
skirmish as Captain Cephas.
Cephas' face clouded. "He didn't seem so bad when we first got hurt, but the
fever took him." He shrugged, then winced. He didn't seem ready to swing a
sword any time soon. "It's as the gods will. That's all I can say about it."
"Don't you worry about a thing, Captain," Smitty said with a sly smile. "I
expect Corliss will take good care of you now that you're back."
Rollant wanted to stick an elbow in Smitty's ribs, but didn't quite dare, not
where Cephas could see him do it. He hadn't brought Hagen and Corliss and
their children back to the camp so the escaped serf's wife could become the
captain's leman. On the other hand, Cephas hadn't forced her, as northern
nobles were in the habit of doing when blond girls took their fancy. That also
made Rollant stay his hand, or rather, his elbow.
Cephas smiled, too. "I'm glad she and Hagen came back safe from the fight.
I'll be glad to see her; I wouldn't say any different."
I'll bet you wouldn't, Rollant thought. Other soldiers crowded forward to
greet Captain Cephas. Even Lieutenant Griff had a grin on his face, though he
would lose command of the company when Cephas was well enough to take it back.
Rollant looked around for Hagen and Corliss. He didn't see either one of
them.Just as well, probably , went through his mind. Corliss might be glad to
see Cephas again. He didn't think Hagen would.
* * *
Count Thraxton had never felt so tired in his life. He wasn't a young man any
more, and the struggle against the southrons' wizards to reach the mind, such
as it was, of General Guildenstern had taken more out of him than he'd dreamt
it could. But he'd done it, and Guildenstern's army had streamed back out of
Peachtree Province in headlong retreat.
And now, after Thraxton had won the greatest victory of his career, his own
junior commanders were nagging him. "Sir, we have to pursue harder," Baron Dan
of Rabbit Hill said the morning after the fight by the River of Death. "The
sooner we can throw a line around Rising Rock, the sooner we can drive the
southrons out of the city or force them to surrender to us."
"Baron, I think you are worrying overmuch," Thraxton answered. "After the
beating we gave them, with their army in such disarray, how can they possibly
hope to stay in Rising Rock?"
"I don't know how, sir," Dan of Rabbit Hill answered. "I do know I don't want
to give them any possible excuse."
"Any possible excuse to do what?" That was Earl James of Broadpath, whose
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blocky form kept almost as much light from Thraxton's farmhouse headquarters
when he stood in the doorway as the door itself would have done.
"Any possible excuse for the southrons to stay in Rising Rock," Dan replied
before Count Thraxton could speak.
"Oh." James of Broadpath nodded. "Well, I should hope not, by the gods. We
ought to run those sons of bitches out of there eh, my lord Count?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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marched all the way from the capital of Franklin north and west to Rising
Rock.
"Not a lot of good stopping places on the way, though," Smitty said, which
was also true.
And there, up near those breastworks, stood General Guildenstern. The
black-bearded soldier in gray tipped back his head and swigged from a flask.
"Come on, you bastards! Dig!" he shouted. "Those traitor sons of bitches
whipped us once, but dip me in dung if they're going to whip us twice. Isn't
that right, boys?"
Heads bobbed up and down as the soldiers digging paused in the labor for a
moment. Then they went back to it, harder than ever. Dirt flew. Rollant said,
"He's not the worst general in the world, not even close. He takes pretty good
care of his men."
"No, he's not the worst, but he's not the best, either," Smitty said. "And I
wonder how much longer he'll have the chance to go on taking care of us. King
Avram's not going to like the way this battle turned out. For all you know,
Guildenstern had his beaky old nose in the brandy flask when he should have
been thinking straight."
"That's so," Rollant admitted. "Getting drunk isn't taking care of your men,
if that's what happened. But I don't know that it is, and neither do you.
People are talking about Thraxton's magic."
"People say all sorts of stupid things," Smitty observed. "Just because they
say them doesn't make them true, though Thraxton might have magicked
Guildenstern."
"I'm ready to believe anything when it comes to the northern nobles'
magecraft," Rollant said. "You never lived up there. I did." He shivered at
the memory. "By the gods, I'm glad I don't live there any more."
Smitty started to answer, then checked himself and stared in delight. Rollant
followed his gaze. "Captain Cephas!" they both exclaimed at the same time.
"Hello, boys." The company commander was thin and pale, but he was on his
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feet. "It's good to be up and moving a bit, anyhow. I hear I missed a little
something."
"Yes, sir," Rollant said. "Awfully good to see you again, sir. From what they
were saying about your wound . . ." His voice trailed off.
Cephas' hand went to the right side of his ribcage. "I've still got bandages
under my tunic," he said. "But I can walk, and I think I'll be able to fight
before too long." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "I was
lucky. The wound didn't fester at all. And they threw me off my cot because so
many soldiers hurt worse than I am started coming in."
"How's Lieutenant Benj?" Smitty asked. Benj had been wounded in the same
skirmish as Captain Cephas.
Cephas' face clouded. "He didn't seem so bad when we first got hurt, but the
fever took him." He shrugged, then winced. He didn't seem ready to swing a
sword any time soon. "It's as the gods will. That's all I can say about it."
"Don't you worry about a thing, Captain," Smitty said with a sly smile. "I
expect Corliss will take good care of you now that you're back."
Rollant wanted to stick an elbow in Smitty's ribs, but didn't quite dare, not
where Cephas could see him do it. He hadn't brought Hagen and Corliss and
their children back to the camp so the escaped serf's wife could become the
captain's leman. On the other hand, Cephas hadn't forced her, as northern
nobles were in the habit of doing when blond girls took their fancy. That also
made Rollant stay his hand, or rather, his elbow.
Cephas smiled, too. "I'm glad she and Hagen came back safe from the fight.
I'll be glad to see her; I wouldn't say any different."
I'll bet you wouldn't, Rollant thought. Other soldiers crowded forward to
greet Captain Cephas. Even Lieutenant Griff had a grin on his face, though he
would lose command of the company when Cephas was well enough to take it back.
Rollant looked around for Hagen and Corliss. He didn't see either one of
them.Just as well, probably , went through his mind. Corliss might be glad to
see Cephas again. He didn't think Hagen would.
* * *
Count Thraxton had never felt so tired in his life. He wasn't a young man any
more, and the struggle against the southrons' wizards to reach the mind, such
as it was, of General Guildenstern had taken more out of him than he'd dreamt
it could. But he'd done it, and Guildenstern's army had streamed back out of
Peachtree Province in headlong retreat.
And now, after Thraxton had won the greatest victory of his career, his own
junior commanders were nagging him. "Sir, we have to pursue harder," Baron Dan
of Rabbit Hill said the morning after the fight by the River of Death. "The
sooner we can throw a line around Rising Rock, the sooner we can drive the
southrons out of the city or force them to surrender to us."
"Baron, I think you are worrying overmuch," Thraxton answered. "After the
beating we gave them, with their army in such disarray, how can they possibly
hope to stay in Rising Rock?"
"I don't know how, sir," Dan of Rabbit Hill answered. "I do know I don't want
to give them any possible excuse."
"Any possible excuse to do what?" That was Earl James of Broadpath, whose
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blocky form kept almost as much light from Thraxton's farmhouse headquarters
when he stood in the doorway as the door itself would have done.
"Any possible excuse for the southrons to stay in Rising Rock," Dan replied
before Count Thraxton could speak.
"Oh." James of Broadpath nodded. "Well, I should hope not, by the gods. We
ought to run those sons of bitches out of there eh, my lord Count?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]