“And,” Milo added, “of the few rebellious nobles in Vawnpolis, he has the only trained and experienced military mind. From the reports we received from our agents within Vawnpolis ere the city was sealed, it was certain that the director of the defense was no tyro at siegecraft. And I find it impossible to believe that the Morguhn nobleman, Vahrohneeshos Drehkos Daiviz, who was named as leader in all those reports, could truly have been responsible for such brilliant innovations. But this same Drehkos—”
“Your pardon, my lord Milo,” put in Thoheeks Djak Tahmzuhn, youngest after Bili of the high nobles, “but I recall hearing my late sire speak right often of a Daiviz of Morguhn with whom he soldiered in the Middle Kingdoms some twoscore years agone. If this be him—”
“But it is not the same man, cousin,” Bili answered him. “That man was his elder brother, Hari, the present Komees Daiviz of Morguhn, hereditary Lord of Horse County of my duchy. Drehkos, the rebel, has never been out of the Confederation, seldom even been beyond the borders of the archduchy, and always avoided military experience like the plague. So, as the High Lord said, it were virtually impossible to credit so provincial and untrained a man with all that has been laid at his doorstep.”
“On the other hand,” Milo took up, “it is highly likely that so devious a brain as Myros’ would strike upon the stratagem, since his precipitate flight from Morguhn Hall no doubt cost him the trust and loyalty of the other rebels, of using Drehkos Daiviz—whom we now know to have long been his satellite and his spy among the loyal Kindred of Morguhn—as his public face, the mouth through which his orders come. Therefore we all must proceed, must lay our plans, on the assumption that the commander opposing us is as one of us, that he well knows the strengths and weaknesses of Confederation forces and will conduct his own resources accordingly. However, as he knows us, we also know him, know of his frequently overcautious nature, of his occasional indecisiveness, of his penchant for turnabouts and betrayals, of his vanity and arrogance. Armed with such knowledge, we should be able to almost read the man’s actions long ere they’re performed and, with the services of a master strategist of the water of Sir Ehdt, as well as two such able tacticians as High Lady Aldora and Thoheeks Bili, when once we’re before those walls we should quickly gain the upper hand. This rebellion should be scotched by harvest time.”
In the camp of the Morguhn Freefighters, their numbers swelled both by the additions of the contingents of the Morguhn and Daiviz petty nobles and by Bili’s fresh recruitments, nearly two hundred warriors lazed about their cookfires, bragging, lying, swapping lewd tales, discussing women and weapons and horses and women and past battles and former patrons and women, dicing and doing necessary maintenance on their gear. Within a torchlit area, ten pairs of men clad in weighted brigandines and full-face helms stamped and shouted and swung blunted swords, under the watchful eyes of a scar-faced weapon master, whose hoarse bellows of instruction or reprimand rang even above the din of the mock combats. In a nearby area, more pairs practiced spearwork, while others took turns casting darts or dirks or light axes at man-sized logs or bundles of straw and a group of archers honed their skills on more difficult and tricky targets. As the men tired and went back to quaff watered wine at the firesides, their places and equipment were readily taken by onlookers. For these were all professionals, men whose lives and livings depended upon consummate ability to utilize a variety of weapons, and they would seldom pass up an opportunity to polish their dexterity.
So no one in camp thought it odd that Geros should spend the most of every evening absorbing the rudiments of sword-play and spearfence, gaining increasing accuracy with cast weapons, learning unarmed rough-and-tumble and even borrowing a hornbow on occasion. The shy, timid valet and musician who, in an agony of terror, had accidentally speared two rebels on a darkened Horse County road while fleeing a battle had become in the few short months since a capable, self-assured fighter, who could deliver hard, true blows. Though polite and soft-spoken as ever, there was that in his eyes and bearing which discouraged patronization or the taking of undue liberties even on the part of those newer men who had not yet heard of his deeds and courage. Captain of Freefighters Raikuh, recognizing the potential value of Geros’ clear tenor voice in transmitting orders amid the din of battle, had named him a sergeant, a move approved by all his comrades.
And Sergeant Geros could not recall ever having been so happy as he now was, bathed in the respect of both his peers and his superiors, secure in the knowledge that while his fears would always be with him he could now control them, which is all that true bravery really is.
A few hundred yards away, Geros’ former employer, Vahrohneeskos Ahndros, sat at wine in the tent of Komees Djeen Morguhn, retired strahteegoi of the Confederation Army. Wounded in the ambush and battle at Forest Bridge—which midnight affray most men now considered to have been the initial engagement of the rebellion—he had lain invalided and then recuperating at Morguhn Hall until recently and had just ridden into camp with his contingent.
Standing or squatting within the same tent were most of the noblemen and Freefighter officers of the duchy, and Geros was the present topic of their conversation.
The saturnine young Ahndros shook his head, his dark hair cwaying across his neck and shoulders. “I simply cannot credit it, Uncle Djeen. Personable, affable and obedient Geros had been since first I took him in, and his former employer’s letter attested the same. But he’s only the son of up. per servants and has never had even minimal war training. I sent him back that night because I knew he could not fight and I feared for his safety. And besides, he’s a gentle person and shy almost to the point of timorousness.”
Captain Pawl Raikuh guffawed freely, his military rank combined with his noble birth giving him a near equality with . these relatives of Duke Bili, his employer, while the dangers and battles he had shared with most of them had forged bonds of friendship. ‘Timorous, my lord baronet? Gentle? We cannot be thinking or speaking of the same man. Why not two hours gone, Sergeant Geros was tongue-lashing a Lainzburker near twice his size for having rust specks on his sword and dirk! And the language he was using would’ve burned the ears of a muleskinner! Hardly my interpretation of gentle and shy, my lord.”
“Again I say, this cannot be my Geros, Uncle Djeen. And you say he speared two rebels that night? It must have been pure luck then, for I doubt he knew one end of that wolf-spear from the other.”
“Oh, aye,” grunted the tall, spare, sixtyish nobleman. “Once could have been chance, but when we routed the buggers, your shy Geros took the lead, riding alone and at a full gallop along that damned dark, dangerous road, and sabered every damned rebel he could catch. Scythed them from out their saddles like ripe grain, he did. And he’d no doubt have chased them clear back to whatever rock they crawled from under, had he not lost his seat when his mount took a big fallen treetrunk. But soon as he’d his wind and senses back, he was in the saddle and on the move again. Oh, he’s a gentle and retiring manner, sure enough, Ahndee, which fooled even me, in the beginning, but young Geros is a stout and trusty fighter for all his meekness. And yet you didn’t know? And here I was complimenting myself on how well I’d trained you, Ahndee.”
The road to Vawnpolis wound a serpentine track among the hilly grasslands of Vawn, and in the dry heat of late afternoon the dust haze raised by hooves and wheels and marching feet overlaid every twist and turn of that road from column head to the eastern horizon. It had been a long day’s march, commencing at first light, and men and beasts alike were bone-weary. Horses’ heads drooped and hooves plodded, while their riders slouched, canting weapons to the least tiring angle, many riding with their helms off so their streaming faces might benefit from the hint of cool breeze blowing off the wooded slopes of the western mountains.