Because his superior officer, Sub-strahteegos Arnos Tchainee, lay ill of a fever in one of the medical wagons now lumbering along the Vawnpolis road, Captain Gaib Linstahk found himself in nominal command of the entire squadron of kahtahfrahktoee as well as of the two troops of lancers trickling out in ones and twos on the flanks of the slowly departing baggage train Nor were these the least of his problems, for, as the Undying High Lady Aldora was traveling this day in her huge, luxurious yurt, he had to deal with the frequently insubordinate commander of her mounted bodyguard, as well as with threescore country noblemen, all surly and irascible at being placed in the rear and not the van.
Trailed by his bugler, the squadron colors and a couple of supernumerary junior noncoms, Gaib was leading his charger, which appeared on the verge of throwing a shoe, toward a still-unpacked traveling forge, his lips moving in curses at wellbred bumpkins who carried their feelings ill balanced on their armguards and gave not one damn for his military rank, rendering him what little deference they did only because he was heir to a Kindred vahrohnos.
A mindspoken warning from one of the lancer noncoms caused him to glance back the way they had come yesterday, at the body of mounted men now approaching, a bedraggled-looking lot from what he could see of them. More volunteer irregulars from Morguhn and other duchies, no doubt, though in a larger contingent than usual. And doubtless commanded by still another noble arsehole, who’d marched them all through the rainy night, and—and then he heard the first shouts of fear and alarm, saw the first flight of shafted death arcing upward from the nearest cover, heard—or thought he heard—that never-to-be-forgotten, ominous hissing hum.
Swinging up on his mount, loose shoe or no loose shoe, he roared, “Bugler, sound To the Colors’!” Then he snapped, “Follow me!” to the color bearer and noncoms. Adding, when he realized they had not seen what he had, “Sun and Wind, lower your visors and clear your steel; we’re under attack!”
Promising himself to have that thrice-damned fool of a Danos hanged, Vahrohneeskos Drehkos presented his twelve-foot lance and clapped heels to his charger, shouting a snarled, “Charge, damn it, chargel The goddam archers have loosed too soon!”
Up the road which the camp had straddled they surged, all winking lancepoints and flashing blades, fanning out as the roadsides became clear enough to strike on a broader front Drehkos had schooled them well.
All the miserable night they had hidden in a steep, brush-grown ravine, shivering and hungry, but trusting utterly in their valiant commander. With the departure of most of the invaders and the concurrent cessation of roving patrols, the archers and dartmen had padded forth, under command of Senior Sergeant Danos, bound for predetermined positions within range of the invader camp and with strict orders to hold their shaft until the van of the attack column was abreast of them, that the shock of the charge might strike upon the very heels of the shock of the arrowstorm.
Bracing his buttocks against the high, strong cantle of his war kak and taking a fresh grip on the ashwood shaft of his lance, Drehkos felt an arrow strike the backplate of his cuirass and heard behind him the scream of a horse, saw the kahtahfrahktoee archers—fortunately but a bare handful of the bastards!—loose a second, then a third volley before wheeling their mounts and trying to force a way through the boiling confusion of the camp to where their colors waved and a bugle pealed the call, over and over.
Drehkos’ own precipitate archers still were loosing into the chaotic mess the camp had become, but he knew that they could not long continue to so cover his advance. Not only would they run the risk of cutting down his riders, but with resources being husbanded toward the eventual defense of the city, arrows and darts were in short supply and had been allotted in limited quantities; just enough to take out most of the mounted escort so that the bulk of the forces might devote their efforts not to fighting but to packing the mules they were trailing and any captured animals with such supplies as might be easily available and firing anything they could not take with them, ere they faded back into the sheltering hills.
The maneuver outlined in the High Lady’s book had been patterned for use in flatter, more heavily wooded country, but Drehkos’ quick, flexible mind had immediately visualized a way to adapt it to the somewhat different conditions. The advance of the striking force should have been concealed by forest or fold of ground, but since none was available within practical range of the objective, and since latecomers had been hastening to join the army since first it entered Vawn, Komees Hari’s brother had decided to gamble on simply riding up the road, bold as brass, until he reached striking distance.
And it would’ve worked, too, he thought, as his big spotted stallion bore him nearer and nearer to the line’ of heavily arrried nobles drawing up to take the brunt of his charge. Fighting armored, determined men differed radically from riding down disorganized and/or dismounted survivors of an arrow rain. He gritted his teeth, thinking, I’ll lose men today, maybe as many as I lost day before yesterday. As the war cries commenced to sound both behind and before, Drehkos roared out his own, original, perhaps, but very very feeling.
“Oh, goddam you, Danos! Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU!”
Danos had not been happy of late, despite his promotion to senior sergeant. Lord Drehkos’ complete regimentation of all the inhabitants of Vawnpolis had made Danos’ sex life highly dangerous, while the virtual eradication of the dog packs and feral cats and the deep inroads recently made on the rat population had made disposal of his few victims’ bodies a chancy business at best. And that was while he still was in the city, before he had “volunteered” for this insane and uncomfortable method of slow suicide.
Nor would he have come riding out on this madness but for the certain knowledge that to remain behind was to place himself in undesired proximity to Lord Myros, Lord Drehkos’ deputy for the fortifications. And such was simply not to be borne!
Though the dark, gray-haired, brooding vahrohnos had seldom spoken to him, and then only in line of duty, since Lord Drehkos had literally dragged him from the gutter and restored him to the thin ranks of the gentry, yet Danos feared Myros instinctively, as he would fear a viper. And he did not even know why. Unless … unless it was those eyes.
Black, they were, the blackest that ever Danos had seen, yet with a shiny, shimmering bluish glint like chunks of mountain coal. But Danos could see something else lurking behind those eyes, sometimes peering slyly from their depths, and it was that . . . that indefinable menace which set Danos’ skin prickling. And when it peeked out in Danos’ presence, while the debased nobleman bared his unnaturally white teeth in one of his mirthless grimaces, then Da^nos knew terror. He was convinced that that nameless thing harboring behind those eyes could see to the very depths of his soul, knew his every misdeed and was waiting but a favored time and place to reveal all—or … And then Danos would tremble like a trapped rabbit, his mind unable to retain the thought of what horrors the loathsome Lord Myros and the satanic being which dwelt within him might demand in payment for continued silence.
So he had ridden out with Lord Drehkos, who had bluntly praised his unswerving loyalty and dauntless courage, then placed him in command of the archers. At least they had been eating more and better since leaving the city, that much Danos could say in truth, what with game and wandering livestock and supplies from several small parties who had ridden in to join the army only to be bushwhacked by Drehkos’ scouts. Of course, conscientious Lord Drehkos always insisted that the bulk of any nonperishables be packed to the city, but still the raiders ate well and frequently.
Furthermore, and to Danes’ vast relief, the lord saw to it that the lightly armored archers and dartmen were called upon to do no hand-to-hand combat, covering their withdrawal if necessary with his mounted irregulars. So even the perpetual grousers had to admit that things were not as bad as they might have been.