Seeing Johnny first frown, then shake his head, Corbett snapped, “What is it, man? You recognize the origin? Is that it?”
Johnny nodded, the sunlight glinting on his bald head. “I shore Lawd does, Gen’rul Jay. Thet there be Ganik work. It useta be the end piece awf a Ahrm’nee sword sheath—they ushly makes up good p’ints fer darts an’ they ain’ so hard fer to work up as ir’n or steel is. Looks as how thet ol’ bar, he bit awf the resta the shaf’, then the p’int jest workted awn in futher.”
During his weeks with Erica and Braun in the Ahrmehnee stahn, Corbett could recall having seen many a wood-and-leather sword case with handsomely decorated throat, bands and chapes of cast bronze, and now, after Johnny’s identification, he could detect the ghost of the one time art object in the hammered, defaced and sharp-honed point. But that was not what sent an icy chill coursing the length of his spine or set the hairs on his nape aprickle.
“Johnny,” he said slowly, “I thought you said that Ganiks never, ever came this far south. How far could a bear travel, wounded that seriously? Ten miles? Maybe twenty, at the outside? But by your reckoning, we’re still nearly a week’s march away from the southernmost Ganik areas.”
The old man shrugged, palms outward. “Lawdy, Gen’rul Jay, I nevuh said I knowed everthin ‘bout everthin, did I? The bunch I ‘uz runnin’ with whin you come to club me daown, it ‘uz the futhes’ south Ganik bunch that wuz. An”t’placet where yawl kilt everbody ‘cept of me, that were as fer south as eny of us’d ever rode afore. That be awl I knows ‘bout it.”
He looked and sounded hurt, so Corbett forced a smile and a soothing tone. “All right, Johnny, all right—I’m not doubting you. I’ve never known you to lie about anything.”
Then, turning to Gumpner, he said, “All right, Gump, we’ve got an iffy situation now, with a possibility of hostiles around the next turn. Two- or three-man points from now on, nobody to ride alone, in van, column or rearguard, for any reason; no one to break column for any purpose without the okay of his superior and without a couple of other men to accompany him.
“The van will maintain the same interval from the main column, but put a full squad halfway between the rear of the van and the head of the column; same thing for the rearguard, too. I want to know the very second a Ganik is sighted by anyone.
“Make certain that all those civilian packers have their weapons loaded and ready for action. And by tonight’s halt, I want a damned good reason for why the leader of the van didn’t at least try to contact the head of the column by transceiver to let us know precisely why those shots were fired.”
He came erect, then added, “When we camp tonight, Johnny, we’ll rig you up as planned, give you the worst-looking pony we can find, then let you start riding advance point, two or three kilometers ahead, anyhow. If you still want to, at least. I won’t order you to—it could easily be your death.”
Kilgore’s head bobbed in a short nod of assent. “Shit, gen’rul, I ain’ a-scairt of no livin’ Ganiks. ‘Sides, they awl knows me; I rid with the bunches fer a passel of years and them as ain’ nevuh seed me has shore Lawd heerd of me. So shore I’ll ride out termorrer, but afore we-awls leaves here, I wawnts me whut hide thet bar’s got lef awn ‘im, an’ iffen a couple the boys wuz to help me, I c’n skin ‘im a helluva lot quicker.”
Foot to stirrup, Corbett turned and demanded, “In the name of God, man, why would you want that stinking, verminous thing, Johnny?”
The reformed cannibal showed gapped, yellowed teeth in a broad grin. “Wai, Gen’rul Jay, suh, if I means fer to pass fer a wil’, bunch Ganik, lahk I wuz, I’m way too clean, me an’ my clo’s too. Smelly as it be, I figgers thet bar skin’ll be jes’ the thang fer to cover up haow purty I smells.”
Gulping down the bile raised at thought of actually wearing the rotting, maggoty hide, Corbett swung up onto his mount and told Old Johnny, “It certainly will do that, and you know best in that regard. Get any help you need, here. But just stay downwind of me, please.”
7
Sir Ahrthur Maklarin had had his work table arranged as close to the hot hearth fire as was possible without risking the setting alight of his clothing and the papers which now were piled high on the table. One would have thought that, as heavy as had been the winter’s snows, the spring might have been decently dry, at least; but it was proving to be anything but, and his many necessary rides of inspection in the chill and wet had set every bone and joint and old wound in his body to aching as fiercely as a rotten tooth, and he knew of old that only heat would allay such pain.
Laying aside the quill pen for a moment, he first trimmed the lamps, then took from the hearth a copper loggerhead and, after he had carefully blown the fine ash from the glowing ingot, plunged it, hissing and spluttering, into his pewter tankard. After a tentative sip or two, he drained a deep draft from the now-heated mixture of beer and herbs, wiped off his drooping mustache with a characteristic swipe of his hirsute hand, then set down the tankard and returned to his figures and figurings.
The brigadier was a careful, planning officer. He worked his staff hard and himself ten times harder. He anticipated probabilities and possibilities, meticulously provided for and against each of them and calculated certain needs far in advance of the actualities. All of his immediate subordinates and his noble superiors—he had no real peers—were more or less in awe of the results he almost always achieved, for all their frequent and frustrated cursings of his slow, plodding preparations.
Under his generalship, Skohshun arms had suffered but a single real defeat, and that one—which was the reason they had found it necessary to leave their fine lands in southerly Ohyoh, won at such cost by their forefathers, and cross the river to hack out a new homeland—could reflect only additional glory on the old war dog. His strategies and tactics had enabled his vastly outnumbered battalions to several times inflict such heavy losses upon the attacking hordes that their leaders at last had agreed to allow all of the inhabitants of the Skohshun Confederation to emigrate to the south, across the great river, bearing with them all that they wished and granting them five full years in which to leave Ohyoh.
Of course, there had been that close thing last year, in battle aganst the present holders of these new lands, these doughty Kuhmbuhluhners. But that had not been a defeat; the pike hedge had not been completely broken at any time; it had really been something of a draw—with both sides so severely stung as to willingly allow each other the opportunity to retire in good form.
The old officer again warmed his tankard’s contents, then turned his chair half about and leaned back in it, thrusting his aching legs even closer to the source of the heat while he sipped and thought and muttered to himself.
“Not enough ash trees in this country. The lads of the battalions don’t like the replacement pikeshafts one damned bit. Hummph—don’t blame them, either. Oak’s a damned sight heavier, foot for foot, and the stuff splinters easily, too. But we’ll just have to make do with oak and maple until we hold and can explore more of these new lands.”
He chuckled to himself. “If ever we get to. These New Kuhmbuhluhners seem damned confident, to have suffered such heavy losses last year. It could be all bravado, of course. I pray God that’s all it truly is, else we may well be chin deep in the shit, for fair.
“No less than six battalions chewed up, well chewed up, and the earl hails it as a ‘great victory,’ simply because we were forced to allow what was left of their heavy horse to leave the field. We never even met their foot. Of course, it didn’t look like much, that foot, what I could see of it. No organization to it, apparently, just the usual rabble of archers and slingers and dartmen with a few pole arms here and there. They might do a little damage to us at a distance, but they could never stand against an advance of our hedge.