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And Kahzos had seen no choice but to accede to the unreasonable demand, despite the flagrant breach of army regulations. For the arrogant young pup had made it abundantly clear that should the Confederation commander demur he and his mercenaries would fight-turn their swords on Confederation troops—to achieve their larcenous ends. And Kahzos could only think of that disgraceful business some years back, of the ruined career and cashiering of an officer who had set his battalions on mercenary “allies” when they refused to fight.

Of course, the man had been a damned kathahrohs Ehleen—which automatically meant a fool and a thief—and had hoped that by butchering the mercenaries he could conceal the fact that he had embezzled their wages. But still, with such a precedent and his honorable retirement not far distant, Kahzos had stuck at an armed confrontation with that puling bastard of a thoheeks.

But for all his inborn prejudices and his towering ego, Kahzos Kahlinz was a good officer and an intelligent man. He immediately grasped the dire possibilities, the danger to every man within the new-conquered salient, when the High Lord mindspoke him. After snapping an order to his staff drummer, he replied.

“My lord, because of some unforeseen difficulties with the barbari—ahhh, with Thoheeks Morguhn and his company, the gatherer squads have but just dispersed about the area. Most of the drummers are handling litters, but I have ordered my own drummer to roll the ‘Recall’ and I will immediately send a runner to the thoheeks, whose Freefighters are occupying the redoubt nearest to the city.”

“Never mind Thoheeks Bili,” beamed Milo. “He has already been warned. Just get your units out of there as rapidly as may be. We’ve suffered much loss for damned little gain this day as it is.”

Bill supervised the handling of the wounded Freefighters down the outer face of the rampart. Only when the last of them was resting far down the hillock would he allow himself to be lowered from his place, leaving Pawl Raikuh to see to the dead Freefighters and bundles of loot.

The captain had the stiffening corpses dumped unceremoniously off the rampart. Unless they were noble-born, dead Freefighters were normally simply stripped of their usable effects and left wherever they chanced to fall. As he set his feet to the first rung of the rope ladder his men had jury-rigged, he could but grunt his disgust at the foolhardy idiocy of that arrogant bastard of a sub-strahteegos, who should have been shooing his troops out of the doomed salient but was instead ordering them in painfully dressed formations as fast as they reported to the roll of the drum.

Sergeant Geros’ detail returned just as Bili hobbled down to the place where the wounded had been laid. The young thoheeks took the opportunity to appropriate the sergeant’s mare but found, to his shame, that he had to be helped into the saddle.

Increasingly thick tendrils of smoke were rising from between the paving stones ere the rearguard of the infantry column attained the rampart, and before the last company could even start their descent, a flame-shot pillar of smoke and dust mounted high into the air from the court behind them. To those on the slope, it was as if some gigantic monster had roared with hellish din and fiery breath. The doomed men on the quaking rampart were half obscured and their terrified screams were heard only by themselves.

First a wedge of rampart collapsed back into the inferno, then an arc several yards in length, next another longer one. And suddenly the pillar of dust and smoke became higher and denser as the entire remaining stretch of ramparts slid crashing into the huge, blazing pit, sending unbelievable showers of sparks scintillating upward.

Bill’s mindspeak halted the mare, Ahnah, at the lip of the deep crater. Other men crowded up in his wake, despite the waves of enervating heat, the clouds of choking smoke and the nauseating stench of burning flesh which assailed them.

At first, the young thoheeks could spot no trace of the hundred-odd men who had been atop the rampart when it went down. It was with a shock that he realized that one of them lay almost at his feet. “By his armor, the man appeared to be an officer—and condemned to an agonizing, singularly unpleasant death.

A massive timber—probably one of those which had pillared the huge, elaborate trap—lay across the unfortunate’s legs. The farther end of the timber was already blazing, and several feet more had commenced to smoke and smolder.

Pawl Raikuh touched his lord’s arm. “Duke Bili, I could take two or three men and try to get him out… T

Bili shook his head sadly. “No, Pawl, that would do no good. Look at that timber, man! There must be a full Harzburk ton of hardwood there. It would take a score of men to raise it and a couple more to pull the officer free.”

“We’ve got that many, Duke Bili,” averred Raikuh. “For all he’s one of those damned spit-and-polish popinjays, he’s still a man.”

Bili cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted down, “Can you hear me, soldier? There’s no way we can safely get to you. Enough men to shift that timber might start that mess to sliding again. It might kill all of them.”

Below, the bloody, dirt-caked head could be seen to nod wearily.

Bili went on. “The timber is already on fire, man. You’ll slowly roast alive, if you don’t cut your throat.”

The trapped man’s hand fumbled uncertainly at his waist but came away empty. Apparently his belt had been torn off, and with it had gone his dirk. His position made it impossible to draw the long broadsword strapped across his back. Frantically, he pushed at the dead weight of rough-hewn wood which would shortly be the agent of his torturous death. But he could as easily have shifted a mountain, and presently he slumped back, defeat mirrored on his battered countenance.

Bili groaned. “Pawl … somebody, Sun and Wind, get an archer or dartman up here! We can’t just allow the poor bastard to die like that.”

A number of Freefighters drew, hefted, then threw their dirks, but the blades all fell short. Only three feet from the officer, a section of the timber puffed a great blob of smoke, then small, bluish flames began to crackle over its surface.

Geros could never until his dying day explain his actions then. He had always harbored an intense fear of fire. Yet suddenly he found himself ripping at the laces of his armor, doffing both it and his helm, pushing resolutely through the men at the lip of the crater, and cautiously beginning to pick his way down the treacherous slope of almost fluid earth, loose stones and jagged pieces of lumber.

He heard the surprised shouts of his comrades, almost drowned by Raikuh’s roared command, “Damn your wormy guts, Geros! Come back here!”

Geros had never felt such heat. Above it came in waves, but here it was a solid wall which engulfed from all sides, searing exposed flesh and setting even his sweat-soaked gambeson to smoldering. The oven atmosphere tortured both throat and lungs, so he breathed as shallowly as he could.

Through the wavering heat and rolling smoke, he saw his objective and gingerly made his way toward it, for all that the thick soles of his jackboots seemed hot as live coals, and beneath the leather and steel protecting his shins and knees, he felt his legs roasting.

Then the officer was within arm’s reach. Smiling! The teeth startingly white in that mask of dirt, blood and blisters.

“You … brave man … Freefighter,” the officer gasped. “Wish … could’ve known you. Give … your dirk now. Get out … here! Here … wait.” He fumbled a large signet from off his left thumb. “Take … my father. Ahrkeethoheeks Lehzlee … will reward you. Tell him … died in honor.”

“And that man,” remarked Bili to no one in particular, “was worrying a few hours agone that he’d pissed his breeks a few times in combat.”