With a nod, Bell turned to the trumpeter beside him. “Blow advance,” he said.
Ned of the Forest listened to Lieutenant General Bell’s messenger with a mix of fury and disbelief. “You can’t mean that,” Ned said when the youngster finished. “You can’t possibly mean that. Gods damn it, Bell can’t mean that.”
“I do, sir. He does, sir,” the messenger replied. “He requires the men at once, to help in the attack on Poor Richard.”
“That’s half my force!” Ned exclaimed. The messenger merely rode his unicorn alongside the commander of unicorn-riders without a word. Ned tried again. Maybe the young soldier would see reason: “It’ll help his attack a hells of a lot more if I can strike at the southrons’ flank with all the power I’ve got.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the fellow said uncomfortably. “I don’t give the orders. I only send them on from the general commanding.”
“This is a fool’s order.” Ned of the Forest thought hard about disobeying it, about pretending he’d never got it, even about making something unfortunate happen to this messenger so he could be convincing when he pretended that. Reluctantly, he decided he couldn’t justify something unfortunate. He didn’t know how things were back by Poor Richard. Maybe Bell did desperately need two regiments of unicorn-riders to turn John the Lister’s right flank or for some other reason. Maybe. Ned of the Forest still had a hard time believing it. But, hard time or not, he turned to the trumpeter trotting along close by and said, “Blow halt.” The words tasted putrid in his mouth, like salt beef that had gone off.
A quarter of an hour later, two regiments of unicorn-riders trotted back with the messenger. The rest of Ned’s force pressed on. Colonel Biffle, whose troopers Ned had kept with him, muttered into his beard. He didn’t need long to stop muttering and come right out and say, “This is a bad business, sir-a very bad business.”
“Don’t I know it?” Ned said bitterly. Then he laughed, and that was more bitter still. “Bell only half wanted to let me go in the first place, and so he’s ending up letting me go with only half my men. I reckon that leaves me just about half a chance of doing anything worthwhile. How do you cipher it, Biff?”
“About the same, sir. Don’t suppose anybody could cipher it any different. What the hells do we do now?”
“The best we can,” Ned of the Forest answered. “Don’t know what else there is to do.” He raised his voice to call to a couple of men riding farther away from him than Colonel Biffle: “Captain Watson! Major Marmaduke!”
By strict protocol, he should have named Marmaduke first. But he couldn’t bring himself to put a mere wizard ahead of the man who led soldiers and engines. Both the sorcerer and the commander of catapults answered, “Yes, sir?” and guided their mounts-one unicorn, one ass-closer to his.
“Are you ready to do everything-and I mean everything — to make up for the loss of the soldiers Bell just stole from us?” Ned asked them.
“Yes, sir!” they chorused again. Ned knew he could rely on Watson. No matter how young he was, he’d fought like a veteran from the day he’d taken service with the unicorn-riders. Major Marmaduke, on the other hand… Ned of the Forest sighed and shrugged. Counting on a wizard was always a roll of the dice. That was one problem the southrons had, too. It might have been the only problem they had worse than King Geoffrey’s men, as a matter of fact.
A scout rode back, calling, “Folly-free Gap just ahead, sir. There’s southrons at the far end of it, too.”
Ned swore. He’d hoped he could get through the gap and into the southrons’ rear before meeting up with their unicorn-riders. Then he would have had the edge, or more of it, even if Bell had robbed him of half his force. He shrugged again. What you hoped for in war and what you got were all too likely to be different animals.
He turned to Watson and Marmaduke. “You heard that?” he asked. They both nodded. He went on, “All right, then. We’re going to have to shift the gods-damned sons of bitches. Do everything you know how to do.”
“Yes, sir,” they said once more. Watson added, “I’ll bring the engines up as close to the enemy as I can.”
“I know you will,” Ned said. Major Marmaduke made no such promises. Odds were, he didn’t know how he would be useful till the moment came. Ned hoped he would figure it out then.
Colonel Biffle had heard the scout’s report, too. As the leading unicorn-riders entered Folly-free Gap, the regimental commander asked, “You aim to move as near as we can mounted and then attack on foot, sir?”
“Best way to do it, far as I can see,” Ned answered. “I wish we had more cover coming down on ’em, gods damn it.” In summertime, the low, gentle slopes of the gap would have offered plenty of concealment, and he might have sneaked around the southrons before they knew he was there. No chance of that now, not with all the branches bare. If he wanted to unplug the gap, he’d have to knock the enemy riders out of it.
Colonel Biffle pointed ahead. “Nice little stand of woods there where we can tether our unicorns. We’ll only need to leave a handful of men behind to watch ’em.”
“I don’t want to leave any, not after Bell went and robbed me.” Ned of the Forest drummed the fingers of his left hand against his thigh. “You’re right, though, Biff. We’ve got to leave a handful, I reckon. By the Thunderer’s beard, we won’t leave many.”
Tiny in the distance, southrons on unicorns rode back toward their main body of men. Ned could easily see the unicorns because they were so very white. He laughed. One of these days, if he ever got the chance, he would have to slap brown paint on his men’s beasts so they wouldn’t stand out so much from the terrain over which they rode. That might let him give King Avram’s unicorn-riders a nasty surprise.
No surprises here. This would be straight-up, toe-to-toe slugging. Ned hated this kind of fight, but the ground dictated it. So did Bell’s insistence on slamming straight ahead at Poor Richard. Ned muttered into his chin whiskers. If only Bell had had some sense to go with his undoubted courage…
The unicorn-riders reached the copse Colonel Biffle had seen. They scrambled off their mounts, tethered them, and trotted toward the southrons. They didn’t move in neat lines, as footsoldiers did. All they wanted to do was close with the enemy or find some way to outflank him. Once they managed that, they were convinced the rest would be easy. It usually had been up till now.
A few of Ned’s men stayed behind to guard the tethered unicorns. A few of the unicorns went forward: those ridden by officers, Ned among them, and those pulling Captain Watson’s catapults and repeating crossbows. Major Marmaduke went forward still mounted, too. Again, though, Ned had trouble taking a man who rode an ass seriously. A fellow who rode an ass was all too likely to be one, too…
As usual, Ned sent his unicorn trotting out ahead of his men. He wanted to make the southrons start shooting at him, so he could discover where they were. He also wanted them to see him, to know who he was. He won as much by intimidating the enemy as by outfighting them.
A firepot arced through the air and burst about twenty feet in front of him. The unicorn sidestepped nervously. He fought it back under control. Waving his sword, he pointed to the stand of trees from which the firepot had flown. “Captain Watson, there’s some of what the bastards have waiting for us!” he shouted.
“Right, sir,” the young officer said gaily. He waved the siege engines he led forward. Because he came forward with them-ahead of them, in fact-the men who served the catapults and repeating crossbows didn’t hesitate in advancing. They set up in the open and got to work shooting at the southrons’ engines.