Because of his sudden move an Ungarakii warrior's warclub only grazed his right shoulder instead of crushing his skull. Owen twisted from the impact, pain shooting down his arm. As he came around, he whipped his musket up and across the Ungarakii's painted face. Though deerskin sheathed it, the heavy steel barrel still cracked bone and spun the man away. A second warrior darted in from beyond the first, his warclub raised high for a heavy blow. Owen lunged, driving the musket's muzzle into his stomach. As the Ungarakii doubled over, Owen buried his tomahawk in the man's skull.
"Sound the alarm!" Owen abandoned the tomahawk, and stripped the cover from his musket. He had no time to shift hand or aim. He simply thrust the musket at another Ungarakii, pressed his left thumb to the firestone and invoked magick.
The brimstone's flash lit the small sentry post. The ball blew through the middle of the closest attacker and caught the one behind him on the hip. Flipping the musket around, Owen clubbed the wounded man to the ground. Another step and he smashed the butt into the first Ungarakii's head, crushing his skull.
He glanced toward the others. Lieutenant Marnhull sat on a bed of rusty pine needles, his hat gone, his right ear missing as well. His right shoulder, shattered by a warclub, sank lower than the left. He rocked side to side, mumbling a lullaby and staring at nothing.
The third sentry lay face down, his hair matted with blood, not moving.
Owen tossed his own rifle aside and snatched up the dead soldier's. "Be quiet."
The Lieutenant's voice shrank, obeying as if he were a scolded child.
There has to be more out there. Owen kept slowly turning, not wanting to present his back to any direction for very long. He peered out into the darkness, waiting, listening as best he could. Nothing.
His heart pounded and sweat stung his eyes. One of the Ungarakii grunted his last breath. Something snapped in the darkness. Owen turned, thumb on firestone. Silence again fell, broken only by the soft whisper of Owen's moccasins on dry pine needles.
Then a new set of sounds arose. A squad of troopers came crashing through the woods to the sentry post. A Sergeant entered the clearing. Blood drained from his face. "What happened here?"
"Sergeant, deploy your men in a square. They may still be out there."
"Yes,sir." The Sergeant pointed at various men in his command. "You heard the Captain. Fix bayonets. Form square. Keep your eyes open."
Owen crossed to the Lieutenant. His mangled hat lay next to him, with the ear inside. An Ungarakii warclub had torn off his ear, then mangled the shoulder. How badly it had scrambled the man's brains would remain to be seen
Lord Rivendell arrived with his shadow, Langford. "My God. What have we here?"
Owen stood. "Ungarakii war party. I killed the four over here. The pair that attacked the Lieutenant and the Private got away."
Rivendell frowned. "You say you killed four?"
Owen nodded. "Clubbed the two at your feet, shot one, and my tomahawk is still in the head of the fourth."
"And you say they killed none?"
Owen sighed. "You have the evidence before you, sir."
"I do, sir, and I know how to read it." Rivendell glanced at Langford. "Get this down, Colonel. Captain Strake claims to have shot one of the raiders, but you will note that his rifle is unfired."
"This isn't my rifle. I picked it up from the dead trooper."
"What happened here is very clear. The Twilight People killed the Private. Lieutenant Marnhull grabbed his rifle and shot one of the raiders before being gravely wounded himself. Citation for bravery. Captain Strake killed one man who had stumbled, and the cause of death of the fourth is still under investigation. Note that Captain Strake attempted to claim credit for all four dead men, clearly out of guilt at having led the raiders to this very post."
"I must protest, my lord, this is not what happened."
Rivendell's eyes narrowed. "I think you would do well to understand, Captain Strake, that this is my expedition. I am the sole arbiter of truth. I have rendered my decision and, depending on how things proceed from here, I might be called upon to revise my view. I might find that in the excitement of the event, you misremembered what happened."
Owen tossed the Private's rifle down and recovered his own. He made a show of wiping blood from the brass butt-plate. "I'd be remiss in my duty, sir, if I did not point out that hostiles are still in the area and killing you would go a long way to destroying your expedition."
Rivendell quickly shot glances into the darkness, but did not immediately retreat. "Sergeant, have two men conduct Lieutenant Marnhull to an aid station. Bring his ear. And you, Captain Strake. I have a message to go to Prince Vladimir immediately. Tonight."
Owen looked at him. "Tonight, through these woods, knowing the Ungarakii are out there?"
"Yes, he must be warned. You are his liaison officer. You will bear the message."
At least, out there, I can kill my enemies. "Permission to reload my musket, sir?"
"It should already be loaded, sir, but I shan't write you up for that breech this time." Rivendell sniffed with indignation. "The message shall be ready in an hour."
After an hour's wait, Owen made it through to the Mystrian camp without difficulty. He had not traveled on the road, but nearby so as to avoid ambushes. Upon arrival he reported to the Prince and handed him the hastily scrawled note. Though Rivendell requested a reply to be sent back immediately by the same courier, the Prince declined to provide one and ordered Owen to remain with his party until they reached Hattersburg.
This gave Rivendell two days of apparent joy at Owen's death. It evaporated when he spied Owen in the frontier town on the ninth. His fury should have evaporated in the face of an even larger difficulty, but he immediately convened a court-martial with Langford at its head. Charges were disobeying a superior officer's direct order.
Prince Vladimir immediately invalidated the charge. "The order was never issued to Captain Strake by Lord Rivendell. The order was included in a confidential communication to me. I know his lordship would not presume to give me an order, nor did his message instruct me to instruct Captain Strake on what the message read. Since no order was issued, no order could have been disobeyed."
Even with that direct evidence, the panel deliberated long enough for a work crew to set up a flogging cross. None of the men were happy to see that, and the Mystrians became restive. Owen might be a Norillian, but there was no disguising the fact that the charges were personal. Their general dislike for Rivendell worked in Owen's favor and the tribunal returned a verdict of not guilty, forestalling a general mutiny.
Rivendell sulked for a while, then returned to high spirits when reunited with his school chums from the cavalry. The fact that their horses had not yet arrived did not seem to cause him much concern. Nor did the more distressing fact that the supplies that were supposed to be in Hattersburg had not made it in the promised quantities. The cavalry had done its best to eat their way through much of what had arrived-save for the horse fodder, which had come upriver in abundance.
The evening of the ninth consisted of two basic operations. The troopers-Mystrians and Norillians-reported to the warehouses to draw rations. By Lord Rivendell's order, rice, beans, and other staples were doled out by a curious formula by which each Mystrian was only counted as two-thirds of a person. His rationale had been that since official ration tallies were set for Norillian fighting men, and that the Mystrians were not of that caliber, they should not need a full ration. This rationale also got applied to supplies of brimstone and shot, prompting one Mystrian to wonder how it was that his musket would be less hungry, being as how it was bigger than the cavalry carbines.