Horseclans' Odyssey

9

In the dimness to either side of the big swordsman, Wolf saw two very short bowmen—either dwarfs or young boys, and plains nomads by their appearance—each with a nocked arrow in a drawn hornbow. Somewhere behind the trio he could smell horses. Keeping his hands well away from his weapons, the scarred old soldier grinned.

“Comrades, a good day to yer. Now, looky here, I ain’t one of Duke Tcharlz’s civil marshals, if thet be what yer thinkin’. I be just a ol’ soldier, sent out a-scoutin’ fer his captain, back’t’ Twocityport, an’ I never had me nuthin’ but r’spec’ fer smugglers. I swan, wasn’t fer smugglers, damn few o’ us poor fellers could get us nary a taste o’ good likker, whut with these here sky-high taxes ever’ mucketymuck an’ his friggin’ brother slaps awn it.” The swordsman shook his head, the unlaced face plates slapping against his cheeks. “We are not smugglers, soldier. We are escaped slaves who maimed our master, killed freemen, stole horses, weapons and supplies and fired a serai. We now seek a way to cross the Great River, that these youngsters may return to the Horseclan from which they were kidnapped by evil men who sold them into servitude to one of those debauched eastern Ehleenee. “We know ourselves to be pursued, soldier. That is why I must kill you, lest you betray our biding place. I am sorry, for you seem a good, blunt, honest warrior.”

Wolf saw the brawny, brown-skinned arm go back, readying for the thrust, and the swordsman asked solemnly, “So how would you rather have it, soldier, heart or throat?”

Wolf grinned again, disarmingly, “Of exertion, to be true, Zahrtohgahn”—his keen hearing had sorted out the accent— “after a night with a brace of sixteen-year-old doxies.

“But hold up fore yew murders me. It’s a full p’trol, up there ‘top of the bluffs, an’ they knows I’m down here. I don’t come up soon… ‘less yew thinks one sword and two bows be a match fer a dozen well-armed veterans.” Seeing with relief the muscles of the sword arm relax just a bit, Wolf added, ‘”Sides, I think I got me a ideer will help us all out a little.” Wolf sank down to a squat, removed his helmet and placed it under his flat buttocks. After a brief pause, Nahseer, too, squatted, laying the blade of his sword across his knees, but keeping the dirk in hand. Neither of the nomad boys stirred, other than to lower the aim of their hornbows to keep Wolf covered. On a hunch, Wolf tried telepathy. “Do you mindspeak, little comrade?” he asked Bahb Steevuhnz.

He was a bit taken aback when not only the nomad boys—whose people were widely known to have this power—but the Zahrtohgahn, as well, silently replied, “Yes, all of us do, the horses back there as well.”

Wolf’s grin broadened. This would make things- quicker and easier. “I be no enemy to smugglers and I’m no slave taker neither, comrades, an ‘least two of them men up on the bluff was escaped slaves when we enlisted them back east. My captain, he ain’t too picky about no man’s past, just so long’s he fights and heeds discipline in garrison or camp.

“Now, being on the run and all, none of you may know it, but this duchy is already at war. Duke Alex, ‘crost the river, has got real cozy with the King of Mehmfiz, downriver a ways, and they’s both getting ready to hit one of the duke’s allies down south of here. Naturally, hell have to march down and help out his buddies, and the mosta his troops with him. “When he’s too far away to do no good, it’s a sure thing that Duke Alex is gonna invade this duchy and try to take Twocityport, so’s he can hold both ends of the barge cables. My captain’s job is to hold the new citadel at Twocityport until the duke be done down south. My captain’s been promised a hundred score of soldiers, but I ain’t gonna believe them till I comes to see them marching in the gate.

“So part of the mission of my patrol was to bring back any likely-looking recruits we could lay hand to, and to my mind, you three is the best I seen all this week past. It don’t matter none what size the boys is, long’s they can shoot straight, and I never heerd tell of a Horseclansman what couldn’t. As for you, Zahrtohgahn, you got you that look. I’d say you’re the same as me, you been soldiering mosta your life. Ain’t I right, now?” “Yes,” agreed Nahseer, without pause, “before I was sold into servitude by a powerful man I had wronged, I was an officer in the armies of my native state, a noble-born officer, commanding a mixed brigade, as had my father and his father before him.”

Wolf nodded. “I thought so, and I ain’t often wrong about men. If my captain was to get the duke to give you three freedom and amnesty, would you fight for him against his foes?”

“Could such only be so,” replied Nahseer, “it would be a true godsend, a sweet gift of Ahlah. But our former master is a rich and powerful merchant of Pahdookahport; not only did we attack him and rob him, but I maimed his body beyond any hope of forgiveness.”

“Nahseer gelded the bastard,” put in Bahb gleefully. “Then he put a live coal inside his scrotum. But I was the first to blood him. I laid open his cheek and stabbed him in the crotch when he would have stuck his yard up my arse.” “No matter how rich and how powerful your master be, there be strong laws against sodomy—especially when such nastiness takes the form of forcible rape of either free man or slave—and it is my understanding that Duke Tcharlz, for all his other faults, detests sodomites and sees the laws he has enacted against them enforced to the last jot and tittle,” Wolf assured them. “But that matter aside, the duke is even now going through the duchy with a fine-toothed comb, seeking out able-bodied slaves and apprentices and offering them freedom, pay, keep and, perhaps, loot, will they serve in his army. As the senior sergeant of the Twocityport citadel, I’ve the power to make you three that same offer and to enlist you on this spot if you all be so inclined. “Understand me, please, comrades, it be your decision, and yours alone, to make, but there is only death or recapture for you here. You and your beasts could never get across the river without help, and if you stay in this place and the slave takers don’t chance upon you, then you’ll assuredly be slain or taken when Duke Alex lands his army on that beach beyond this bluff—for that is where my captain thinks he will land, and my captain is seldom wrong on matters of a military nature.”

“How do we know,” Nahseer inquired bluntly, “that you will not get us to your citadel and disarm us or take us in a drugged sleep, and chain us and send us back to him from whom we fled?”

Wolf shrugged. “You have only my word, of course, but no living man has ever questioned it.”

It was, to Nahseer’s way of thinking, a good answer, and he already was beginning to like and trust this bluff, scarred old soldier. But he felt that he must be as sure as possible before putting himself and the boys in a jeopardy which could prove fatal. “But what of your captain? He may have bigger fish to fry, so his thinking may be different from your own. Understand, old warrior, the fiend from whom we escaped will not simply stripe us, he will have us all slowly tortured to death.”

“As I have soldiered with my captain for almost thirty years, I can speak as truly for him as for myself. He detests sodomites as much as does the duke, and he detests the vile institution of slavery even more, wherever and by whomever it is practiced. This be why he has never been loath to enlist runaway slaves or apprentices in his companies. He and I have fought off slave takers to protect men who had freely enlisted… and I can say that he and I would gladly do such again.”

The clouds which had been scudding westward over the valley of the Ohyoh River banked lower, denser and dirty-gray as the afternoon progressed and, in the premature darkness of what should have been sunset, began to let loose blinding sheets of water, along with crackling stabs of blue-white lightning and shuddering rolls of thunder.

But all of the patrol, horse and man, abided warm and dry in the commodious bluffside cave, along with Wolfs three newest recruits, sharing food and drink and swapping tales. The storm passed in the night, and in the bright sunshine of the next morning, all set out for Twocityport by way of a tiny, rural hamlet, where they were to pick up a brace of husky farm boys who had promised to meet them there. Wolf had taken their enlistment oaths on the way out from the citadel. The broken, hilly area just south of the bluffs was brushy and alive with small game, and Bahb and Djoh Steevuhnz strung their bows and impressed Won and the soldiers to a high degree by arrowing, seemingly without aim or effort, above two dozen running rabbits.

Wolf set a slow and easy pace, and, just shy of the sun’s zenith, the patrol arrived in the minuscule square of the farming hamlet. Only a few hours’ ride from Twocityport, the community boasted no inn, only a hwiskee house—which sold mostly ale, beer, cider and a cheap, sour wine, despite its announced purpose—which stood on one side of the square, adjacent to the smithy. At an outside table sat Wolfs two farm boys, passing the time with a checkerboard, coarse bread, pickled pork and mugs of cool cider. Between them and the square, at the long rail, nearly a score of horses were hitched, and anyone could see that the beasts had been ridden hard and long. Yet the sweaty, huffing equines had not been unsaddled, nor had the girths been loosened, and no one was walking the mounts to allow them to gradually cool after exertion. Wolf shook his helmeted head, sneering to himself at the stupidity and cruelty of whoever led this pack of halfwits.

Spotting him, the two farm boys folded and stowed their game, wolfed the last crumbs of their food and upended the cider mugs, their throats working, then came trotting to the head of the column—blanket rolls slanting across chest and back, war bags in hand and one with an old, worn dagger under his belt At Wolfs query about the ill-served line of horseflesh and the loud hubbub of men’s voices from within the hwiskee house, one of the boys replied, “Ahh, them varmints be but a passel of plains traders and Crooked Portuh’s men from the big serai on the Pahdookahport road and a few hired bravos, out a-lookin’ fer three runaway slaves. This be the second time they been th’ough here, cain’t seem to find ’em, and we folks hopes to God they never does neither.”

To his patrol archers, Wolf gave the hand signal to string bows and nock arrows. At the same time, he mindspoke Bahb and Djoh to do likewise. Then, hoping to the last to avoid a confrontation or a fight, he urged the two farm boys to mount a brace of the led horses at once.

But it was already too late. A pair of men came out of the hwiskee house, their arms linked, holding foamy mugs and bawling a lusty song. And then the song died on their lips. One man dropped his mug and ran back inside, shouting, “It’s them, Mistuh Custuh, sir. They all three out inna square. A passel of sojers done took ’em.”

There was a brief delay as both Portuh and Custuh tried to make use of the narrow egress at the same time. The heavier Portuh won that contest, but Custuh was hard on his heels, followed by the big, rawboned bravo Djahnbil—representing the Lord Urbahnos on the hunt—and his sidekick, Buhbuhtchuhk, trailed by the other trader, Hwahruhn, and then most of the other hunters, most of them bearing mugs or jacks and still chewing.

Wolf warily eyed the mob of men, judging their potential, and felt somewhat reassured. All bore arms of one kind or another, but only five were fully armed and armored—Custuh and Hwahruhn wore the boiled-leather armor of the plains nomads, with swords and dirks; the two bravos’ bodies were protected by steel scale shirts, their shoulders, arms and thighs by steel plates, and their heads by steel helmets; Portuh was encased from neck to knees in a fine and very expensive ensemble of Pitzburk plate armor topped off with an old leather cap which had been split to fit over the dirty, greasy bandages swathing his head from the ears up.

Portuh, recognizing Wolf as the adjutant of Duke Tcharlz’s favorite condottiere, Captain Martuhn, approached him, followed by Hwahruhn and the two bravos. But the other trader, Custuh—basically hotheaded, in addition to being hot, tired, dirty, saddlesore and, after a week of fruitlessly crisscrossing the sector of the duchy between Pahdookahport and Twocityport, frustrated to the point of tears or murder—rushed up to Nahseer’s place in the column and grabbed the gray’s bridle, snarling, “Git’t’ hell off’n m’ hoss, yew no-good, thievin’ shit-faced bastid, yew!”

Before Nahseer could even start to free boot from stirrup and kick the man away, the war-trained gelding reared, lashing out with deadly steel-shod hooves. One of those hooves took Custuh just above the eyes, cracking his skull like an eggshell and smashing on into the brain. Custuh’s lifeless body spun off to flop into the dust of the square, blood and gray-pink brain tissue contrasting with splintered shards of white bone in the place where his forehead had been. Hwahruhn shuddered and moaned softly. This was just the way he had seen his partner die many times over in his fevered dreams of weeks past. Custuh might have been the only casualty, had rational men been vouchsafed the time to take charge, but such was not fated to pass. Hwahruhn’s nightmares of blood and death for the men of the caravan of kidnappers was swiftly to become reality.

Thet dang Zahrtohgahn bugtit done kilt Mistuh Custuh!” shouted the bravo Djahnbil, drawing sword from sheath with a sibilant zweeeep. “Let’s us git ‘im!” “No!” yelled Hwahruhn, turning and starting toward the bravo. “It was the horse killed him, an accident…” But it was too late for words in the tense confrontation of the two groups of irritable and nervous men. The two sword-holding bravos had taken no more than three steps in Nahseer’s direction when, with a twanng and a thunnk, Bahb and Djoh Steevuhnz had each sent a bone-headed hunting arrow through the left eye and into the brain of each of the mercenaries.

As the two dropped with a clashing of their scale shirts, the mob before the hwiskee house began to mill and move forward, with the nooning sun glinting on bared blades. A ripple passed through the double column of soldiers as the bowmen presented and drew, awaiting only Wolfs signal to loose. Wolf had been watching the mob when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Portuh grasp the hilt of his longsword. Wolfs short, broad, heavy model was out first, and with the flat he cudgeled Portuh’s bandaged head; the serai keeper dropped to his knees, holding his head and groaning.

Wolf reined about to the right flank and raised his sword above his head, roaring, “Archers, one volley, target to right flank, fifteen yards. Loose!” To the accompaniment of screams of pain and fear, six war arrows and two more hunting arrows of Horseclans make thudded through clothing and into the vulnerable flesh of those men unlucky enough to have been in the forefront of the mob of would-be slave catchers. Several of the men in the rear faded back into the hwiskee house. Running down three slaves, and two of them little boys at that, was one thing; taking on a fully armed and mounted squad of the duke’s dragoons was another thing entirely.

Automatically, the veteran archers nocked a second arrow and awaited orders, the non-archers loosened swords in the scabbards and wheeled their mounts about to face the foe, gleefully awaiting an order, for men who could afford to frequent a hwiskee house must perforce have money, and once they had been hacked to death they would have no further need for money or anything else. The surviving trader, Hwahruhn, stood aghast between the mob and the column. All of his worst presentiments and forebodings were come to terrifying life. Second Oxman Bailee sat spraddle-legged in the dust, both his hands lying limply between his thighs, the gray-fletched 6haft of an arrow protruding from his front while the blood-dripping point and more of the shaft stuck out of his back. Bailee said not a word, he just rocked to and fro, whining and coughing, deep coughs that brought up frothy blood to spray onto his legs and dribble down his chin.

Wagoner Sawl Krohnin had a black-shafted nomad arrow in his eye, and so too did one of the apprentice traders, Bahbee Gyuh. One man—Hwahruhn could not see his face—was stumbling into the door of the hwiskee house, the steel point of a war arrow winking out just below his left shoulderblade. And First Wagoner Tahm Gaitz had driven his last team across the prairie, having taken an arrow squarely between his eyes. The other three downed men were Portuh’s, and Hwahruhn could not recall their names.

Slowly, the trader raised his hands, palms open placatingly. To the remaining slave catchers, he said, “Put up your steel, men. More than enough blood has been shed here over something that was none of our business to begin with. “The slaves are all the property of that Ehleen, and no reward he could offer would be enough to pay for your lives or your suffering. These men are soldiers of Duke Tcharlz. They have the slaves, and I am sure that all will be made right in time. Take your friends back into the hwiskee house and see to their hurts; I’ll deal with these gentlemen.”

Most of the mob gladly took this excuse—the voice of authority—to put stout log walls between their unprotected skins and those sharp-biting arrows, but a knot of three or four of the caravan men stood their ground, grumbling. At length, Tahm Lantz stepped a few feet forward and said, “But Misruh Hwahruhn, is we jest gonna let them bash mah cousin’s haid in an’ git away with it?” Hwahruhn sighed. “In the first place, Tahm, the horse killed Mistuh Custuh, not the rider. In the second place, there is not and never was any reason, any excuse, for us to have picked a fight with these soldiers. But certain of us did so, and you can see and hear the consequences. If you, personally, and your friends there want to commit suicide, speak to the sergeant here. I’m certain that some of his troopers will accommodate you.” Then Hwahruhn turned his back on the late Trader Custuh’s cousin and bespoke Wolf. “Sergeant, there has been a terrible misunderstanding this day. We are peaceable men and had been about a lawful, civic duty: the recapture of three slaves. I see that you have taken them, but you were wise to disarm them, as well, for they are directly responsible for the shameful maiming of their master and indirectly responsible for the deaths of several men, the partial destruction of the serai on the road from Twocityport to Pahdookahport, the burning of most of our caravan’s best goods from this last trip and the theft of five horses and other items.”

Wolf shrugged. “You should oughta have tol’ all o’ thet to them firs’ two buggers drawed steel and come a-runnin’ at my column, mistuh. Hell, my men and me had us no way to know who or what your outfit was,” Wolf lied, blank-faced. “First off, some loonatick comes a-runnin’ up and grabs the bridle of Trooper Nahseer’s hoss and the hoss gits hisself spooked and kicks that crazy’s head in.”

“It was Custuh’s gelding,” said Hwahruhn. “The Zahrtohgahn slave stole it out of the serai stables. But you’re right, of course, he should’ve gone about things differently. He always was a hothead.”

Wolf smiled grimly. “Wai, he’s a busted-open head now.

But why’n hell did them other two have’t’ draw steel and come at my column?

That’s what really touched the thing off, Y know, Mistuh.” Hwahruhn sighed again. “They were hired men in the service of Lord Urbahnos of Pahdookahport, the master of the three slaves, the man who wanted them back. He had offered a huge reward for their recapture, alive.” “Wai…” Wolf leaned forward in his saddle and spoke slowly and distinctly. “He ain’t a-gonna git them, mistuh, nor nobody elst, f r that matter. All three of ’em’s enlisted in the comp’ny of Captain Count Martuhn of Twocityport f r the rest o’ the war, and then—by the orders o’ His Grace Duke Tcharlz—they gets their freedom!”

Knowing that he had precious little time to spare, Duke Tcharlz and his columns descended on the phony war downriver with frightening speed, marching something over a hundred miles—cavalry and infantry, and much of it crosscountry—in a few hours less than five days. The young King of Mehmfiz and his three marshals, one of them an actual nobleman of his court, the other two mercenary captains, strove to fight delaying actions in keeping with the king’s promises to the Duke of Traders townport; therefore, to that planned end, they separated… and this was their downfall. One after the other, the wily duke forced them into open battle and decimated them, pursuing the shattered ranks far southward across the border and deep into the Kingdom of Mehmfiz itself. Nor did he and his troops simply war on fellow soldiers as his columns returned northward. They razed and raped, looted and burned and slew; no structure of less strength than a walled and well-defended town was safe from their savage depredations.

And, as Tcharlz had known full well they would, the court of Mehmfiz was quickly agitated by the grumblings of the nobles whose northern lands were being hardest hit by this large-scale raiding, even while the streets and alleys of the young king’s largest city were becoming clogged with lowborn refugees, each of them with grisly and horrifying tales to recount.

There was now but a single army left free and unpummeled in the north. It was the personal force of King Uyr, and, despite himself, Duke Tcharlz was beginning to develop a degree of respect for the young man, who seemed able to avoid trap after trap, to wriggle his force out of situations instinctively. Nor could this military expertise be that of mere experience, for the royal ruler of Mehmfiz was not that old and he had never before personally warred so far as the duke and his informants were aware. The manuevering had now crossed the border and was taking place over the battered northern provinces of Mehmfiz itself. Save for the two armies, these provinces—formerly among the richest of the kingdom—were become virtual deserts, empty of man. The fine crops not yet harvested had been either burned or trampled into the earth by hooves and booted feet. Harvested crops had been either looted or burned while the structures that had held them, fine halls and hovels alike, were become roofless ruins, their former occupants either fled southward or lying—their scavenger-picked bones scattered and bleaching on the ground—in or nearby those ruins.

Knowing that King Uyr’s intemperate alliance had already cost him and his kingdom dearly, and certain that—with but the single, small army to back him—the kinglet would be unable to further menace the states to his north, Duke Tcharlz was upon the verge of breaking off and marching his force back to Twocityport. Then into his camp came riding a delegation under a flag of truce. The meeting between the two leaders took place within the open parkland of a ruin that Tcharlz well remembered. It had been here that he had almost lost an eye to the toothsome, red-haired noblewoman he had been raping. Such had been his admiration of her spunk and spirit that when he was done with her he had, rather than turn her over to his officers and troopers, gifted her with a good horse and a purse of gold and even allowed her to keep her jewels. King Uyr seemed anything other than the utter fop that northern rumor named him to be. He was very short, but such was his dynamism that the duke found himself forgetting the difference in height There was an intense vitality in every movement of the young king’s wiry frame, and intelligence of a high order glinted from the depths of his gray blue eyes. When wine had been sipped—each had brought his own and after the opening amenities, King Uyr had leaned back in his scorched chair—both chairs and the heavy table having been dragged from out of the nearby ruins for the meeting— and, smiling ruefully, commented, “Well, my esteemed Cousin Tcharlz, you’ve played merry hell in these my northern counties, have you not?”

Tcharlz shrugged. “There is only one way to conduct warfare, lord, and that is to fight to win; the harder and bloodier you make it for your enemy, the quicker you win.”

The king nodded. “You have made it hard for me, cousin, damned hard indeed. Half a dozen of my richest, most powerful and most influential counts are constantly badgering me and would likely be fomenting a rebellion, had I not had the foresight to summon them all to my army, where I can keep an eye on them. It is partially at their behest that I meet you here.” The young monarch leaned forward. “What would you say if I asked that you and yours return north and I and mine return south, eh? You were wise to agree, cousin, for by this time Duke Alex has already at least invested your capital, if it has not indeed fallen to his arms.”

Tcharlz smiled lazily, catlike. “The town proper may be in that arrogant popinjay’s hands, King Uyr, but not my new citadel, I’ll wager you; and unless or until he holds that fortress, hell have no use of the port or of much of the town.”

“A half-finished fort won’t delay his army long, cousin,” said the king. “Oh, ho, ho,” laughed Tcharlz. “I’ve stolen a march on you, lord king, that I have. The fortress is completed, completed and garrisoned and in command of a veteran captain, Martuhn of Geerzburk. He’s a born nobleman of the eastern kingdoms, driven from his patrimonial estates by a greedy overlord. Now I’ve invested him with another county, and it is to his own interest to hold that citadel for me; and he can if any man can. The merchants of Pahdookahport have hired on their own mercenary troops, and quite a strong contingent of them, too. So have the rulers of my client states to the north of the Ohyoh. They’re none of them strong enough to go on the offensive, but if that dung-eating hound Alex should be fool enough to attack either of them, he’ll be badly singed. “So, my dear enemy, I can see no reason to curtail my romp here in the rich lands of Mehmfiz. Over the years of late, I’ve been vegetating, growing old and fat, while attending to affairs of state and letting hirelings do my fighting for me. After these last few weeks, though, lord king, living again the hard, strenuous, spartan life of a soldier on campaign, I feel and—so my gentlemen attest often—look at least twenty years younger than my actual years. “Since this raiding and riding and fighting so well agrees with me, and since, as I have told you, there is nothing of an urgent nature to summon me back to mine own lands, and since I have no lines of supply to hamper my movements or disturb my sleep—this, because my forces and I are living well off your lands, lord king—I can see no reason to desist just yet. “Perhaps after I have razed a few more of your counties and have finally chivvied you and your remaining forces to panting, bleeding tatters you will truly regret your and Duke Alex’s little scheme to forcibly divest me of that which is lawfully mine.

“Now”—Tchariz shoved back his chair and stood, hitching Ws sword back around for easier walking—“unless my lord king of Mehmfiz wishes to begin discussion of the terms of his surrender, I’ve matters to attend to in my camp.” The young king’s eyes flashed the cold fires of outraged anger for a moment, even as his knot of retainers snarled and grumbled curses at the impudence of this mere duke, but Uyr’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. “As you wish, Cousin Tchariz, as you wish. I have little need and no intention of surrendering to you. Rather, I came this day to suggest that we call it a draw and retire to our respective capitals.

“As you are well aware, you have left me insufficient strength to risk an open battle with you. However, because I am operating in lands I know well and because our two minds seem to function similarly, I seem to have scant difficulty in escaping your envelopments.

“As for the damages you are doing to these counties, perhaps the injured counts will, upon your eventual departure, have sufficient to occupy them at home that they will bide there for a few years and stay out of my hair in Mehmfizport.” Duke Alex had made his landfall on a stretch of beach just below the bluffs to the north of Tworivercity—he insisted on calling it by the name it had had prior to the coming of his hated rival, Tcharlz—but the invasion had been a disaster almost from the moment the ships and towed barges had left the waters of the Great River.

His plan had been to send a bevy of shallow-draft safl-and-row galleys ahead to run up on the shelving beach and discharge enough men to hold the landing area against possible attack until the big, clumsy barges could be towed out of the channel and rowed in to land horses and men to scour the immediate area and make it safe for himself, his staff and the mountains of supplies, stores, weapons and transport to be put ashore.

In theory it had been a good plan, but it had reckoned without the keen mind of Count Martuhn and his staff.

First, a lucky long-range shot from one of a pair of medium-light war engines which had been concealed atop the bluffs over the beach holed and sank one of a string of overloaded barges in midchannel. The barge ahead cut the sinking craft loose, but before the trailing barge could do so, the weight on the connecting cable had pulled its bow so low that it began to ship water and founder as well. Then, without awaiting orders, the masters of the galleys began to make for shore at flank speed, rather than with the slow caution Duke Alex had intended, said masters knowing that on the beach they and their ships would be out of either sight or danger from the deadly engines atop the bluffs. Some half of the ships beached safely. Of the unlucky ones, two were holed by sixty-pound boulders hurled by the eingines, and yet another was set afire by a pitchball from the same source. The rest, within but a few yards of the beach, ripped out or seriously damaged their bottoms on underwater obstructions unmarked on even the latest charts.

The loss of life was not really heavy, not even among the slave rowers, for the water was too shallow for any of the ripped galleys to sink deeply. But the hulks made the subsequent landings of men and horses much more difficult and far longer in accomplishment… and, all the while, boulders and pitchballs continued a constant hazard to the ships and barges from near shore to the center of the channel.

At the duke’s command, his larger warships, at anchor in the channel, had attempted a counter-battery offensive with their own deck-mounted engines. But, as the ship masters and army officers could have told him, the range was just too great for these lighter engines, and most of their shots fell among the already hard beset shorebound vessels, while the few that actually struck the face of the bluffs did sore hurt to the troops gathered at the foot of those bluffs to escape the showers of arrows and slingstones with which they had been greeted upon landing.

Raging at the dashing of his plan, Duke Alex ordered that the warships cease fire until they had upped anchor and sailed closer inshore. However, when the bowsprit of his flagship was neatly sheared off by a stone from the bluff-top battery, new signals fluttered aloft: “Return to channel anchorage.” Only the fall of night saw the eventual landing of the entire force, less casualties, for the lanterns which the barges and lighters had perforce to mount to avoid rammings provided winking, blinking targets for the engines, bowmen and stingers high on the bluffs.

In the gray light of dawn, a hundred picked marines from the galleys scaled the towering, mist-slippery rocks of the precipitous face of the bluffs. But they found nothing atop the bluffs save piles of stones for engine or sling and a single broken hornbow. They also found tragedy, however, for when a dozen or so of them congregated on a spot near the edge, the lip of rock suddenly collapsed, hurling them all to a quick if messy death on the beach far below and crushing or injuring men and horses on that same beach. One of the chunks of rock—a stone of more than the weight of two armored men—bounced once, then splintered its way through the fore-deck of a beached galley to smash the keel and exit from the side planks.

With men, animals and equipment at last ashore, Duke Alex saw the wagons and carts assembled and loaded, the teams hitched and the men in column. Then he sent a strong advance guard of mounted men ahead and set out along the beach, bound for the track that Duchess Ann’s people had sworn would serve to place his army over the bluff line and within a short march of Tworivercity. At the place where that narrow, winding track mounted upward, the van met the battered remnants of the advance guard, most of them wounded and only a few still mounted. After hearing their tale, Duke Alex realized his error in sending cavalry into such ugly, broken terrain and dispatched, instead, three companies of light infantry, stiffened by a detachment of his marines, to scout the route of advance. The wounded he sent back to the beachhead, to be rowed out to a ship and returned to Traderstownport. With them went a nobleman messenger with orders to come back with reinforcements, supplies to replace those lost or ruined during the landing and more horses. Then, after allowing time for the slower infantry to gain an interval from the main body, he advanced. Captain Barnz was the fifth-eldest son of the Archduke of Tehrawtburk—a principality that lay a month or more east and north of Pahdookahport—and had had to swing steel for a living for most of his life. From his beginning as a pink-cheeked ensign in the condotta of a renowned captain, he had advanced to the command of a full regiment of light troops—six companies of infantry, two troops of lancers and a large support company of artisans and the like; a total of nearly a thousand men.

He had enjoyed a fair measure of success in recent years, choosing the proper contracts and managing to emerge from each of them with his full wages and usually a bit of loot besides. Shrewd investments in his homeland had by now assured him a comfortable retirement whenever age or wounds necessitated such, so now he fought for the sheer love of campaigning, and a large part of his profits went to recruiting the best men and officers and fitting them all out with the finest in weapons and equipment. Such had become his fame that he had not had to seek out contracts for years, while younger sons of noble lineage came from as far away as the Middle Kingdoms—far to the east, on the shores of the salt sea—to vie for places in his companies. Rather than detailing the dangerous chore to a lieutenant, he was presently leading these three companies with a spirit of vengeance. It had been one of his troops of lancers that had been chewed up while serving as advance guards, and he meant to see blood for it. He did, more than he would have preferred. They had marched more than a mile from the beach, the track mounting ever higher, the scale-shirted men sweating, envying the officers and sergeants their horses. For jdl that the drums were covered and mute and the column proceeded at a route step, every man was a blooded veteran and knew that he was in enemy-held territory and in imminent danger. They marched with targets strapped and gripped, one dart ready in hand and the other five loose in the quiver. The archers, every fifth man, marched along with their infantry bows—heavier and longer-ranging than the cavalry horn-bow—an arrow nocked and an additional two shafts in the fingers of the bow hand. The officers and sergeants rode with bared blades.

Even so, the wickedly planned and well-executed ambush took a heavy toll of Captain Barnz’s prize companies.

In a place where generations of smugglers had improved upon and shortened the former game trail through the expedient of digging a cut through a knob and deeply ditching on each side to prevent erosion from restoring the natural contours, a deadly chorus of twanging bowstrings and the hissing hum of whirling slings heralded the descent of a shower of death from within the woods atop the slope to the right.

Looking back to see dozens of his men flopping and screaming or lying still, sprawled unnaturally in the dust, Barnz waved his long sword horizontally and roared to his subordinates, “Ditch to the right flank. Get them into it, the dartmen. Get our archers into the left-flank ditch and get them returning fire at the bastards.” But then, as the first men to obey his orders hurled themselves into the brushy ditches, Barnz and those men received another painful surprise.

Dartman Seth of Libberyburk had just been remarking to his marching companion, Dee Lainee, that the brush-filled ditches would make splendid habitats for snakes. But now Dartman Dee lay in the roadway, coughing out his life with an arrow transfixing his throat, and Seth forgot the possibility of snakes diving into the protection offered by that same ditch. Seth began to scream, however, even before his body struck the ground. He screamed with the white-hot agony of some something piercing through his leather trousers into and then through the flesh and muscles of his thigh. And his was but one in a veritable chorus of screams and shrieks from up and down the lengths of -both roadside ditches.

Those men unhurt cleared away the brush to find that it concealed a thick sowing of solid wooden stakes, the sharp ends of which had apparently, from the look and the stink, been soaked in fermenting dung.

With at least half of his command dead or wounded from arrow or slingstone or the devilish stakes, Captain Barnz halted his survivors where they lay. Let the main column catch up with htm. His contract with Duke Alex committed him and his regiment to siege warfare not the steady and costly attrition of counter-guerrilla combat.

But the noble nincompoop in command of the detachment of Duke Alex’s marines profanely insisted that the wounded be left behind for the main column to collect if the enemy had not slowly butchered them by that time, while the hale men pressed forward into the forbidding country ahead. When Barnz, no less profanely, had made it clear that where he and his much reduced three companies were was where they were going to stay until the arrival of the main force, the fuming young officer formed up his detachment and went I marching up the road. No one ever saw any of that detachment again.

That night, in one among the labyrinth of bluff caves, Count Martuhn squatted, his eyes smarting at the smoke of the fire before him but showing a rare grin withal.

“We’ve slowed them and stung them, which is about all that I aimed for to start We just lack the strength to do more.”

Nahseer nodded. “Were all the lands between here and the city broken, hilly and wooded with but a single, narrow track, we might continue to nibble away at them until they broke and mutinied or, at least, lost heart for a protracted war. But once they are through the saddle there, it were suicide to attempt opposition. We are far too few and mostly unmounted, and their horsemen would ride us down at will.”

When, shortly after he and the boys rode in with Wolf, the Zahrtohgahn had lowered his mindshield that Martuhn might survey his training and experience, the new-made Count of Twocityport had quickly realized just what a treasure had fallen into his hands and had willingly entrusted the delaying action to his newest lieutenant, leaving him and Sir Wolf free to attend to the multitudinous minutiae attendant to preparing the fortress and its garrison for a siege of uncertain length. But when, after the first messenger to deliver word that the enemy fleet was standing off the beach below the bluffs was not followed by another, Martuhn had taken a small escort and ridden up to the cave that had been marked on the maps to serve as Nahseer’s headquarters. The Zahrtohgahn had simply said, “I sent you word that they were about to land, my captain, and they landed, although we made that landing difficult, time-consuming and costly to them. But nothing untoward happened after that and I had suffered no casualties, so I could see no reason to afflict you with a horde of riders who could only have told you that our affairs here were proceeding as planned. Did I displease you, sir?” “You displease me?” Martuhn shook his head vehemently. “Anything but, my good Lieutenant Nahseer. But it has been so long since I have had any officer save Sir Wolf who was capable of thinking on his feet and properly handling a protracted action without seeking my help or advice that it is difficult for me to reaccustom myself to one such as you.”

Changing the subject, he asked, “And how are our little nomads faring? I was loath to send boys so young on this mission. Wouldn’t have, had not you and Wolf been so insistent.”

Nahseer smiled. “Bahb and Djoh, for all their tender years, are the best archers I command and better field soldiers than men two and three times their ages. They both have shown a quick, sure grasp of tactical principles, and the fact that they are telepaths, as am I, allows me far better view over and control of an ambuscade than any nontelepathic commander could have.” Martuhn nodded. “I know that feeling well, my friend. The fact that Wolf and I can communicate silently and over a distance has been vitally useful on more than one occasion over the years.

“But getting back to the subject that brought me up here, you do plan to withdraw before the enemy reaches the plain and traps you with cavalry? I could ill afford to lose so many archers and missilemen out of my garrison at the citadel.”

“And I,” replied Nahseer, “have no slightest desire to die trying to digest a lance point. For all the joy it has given me to once again command warriors independently, when the van of the Traderstown army comes within sight of the gap,, my rear guard and I will assuredly spur for the citadel; the main body should be there by then. I doubt me not that the wagons bearing those engines that served us so well are at the gates even as we speak.”

Martuhn, much relieved of mind and feeling even more blessed in Wolfs finding of the huge, tough and intelligent Zahrtohgahn, rested men and horses through the rest of the night and set out for Twocityport with the first light of the new day. While he would have enjoyed the acceptance of his new subordinate’s offer to stay and watch the last big ambush of the enemy, he had ever been a slave to duty and he knew that there was much yet to be done in the citadel.