“Of course, I’d have to take part of your squadron, the Confederation noblemen and the Middle Kingdoms dragoons, at least; but I could leave you the Moon Maidens and the Ahrmehnee, perhaps, plus the regular garrisons.”
Bili chose his words carefully, his keen mind working apace. “If your grace truly believes that the city would be better served with or by replacement castellans during the coming field operations, then please hear the following recommendations.”
He paused. When the prince raised his single, bushy eyebrow and nodded once, he went on. “Both Free fighter Captain Fil Tyluh and Freefighter Lieutenant Frehd Brakit are cadets of noble Middle Kingdoms families, as your grace surely knows.”
Prince Byruhn nodded again. That he was slyly working at both of these Freefighter officers to either wed widows of his vassals slain at last autumn’s costly battle or, if they wished not to set aside their Moon Maiden battlemates, to at least swear homage, accept lands in fief and settle down in New Kuhmbuhluhn was an ill-kept secret within the low-lander squadron.
Bili continued again. “But what your grace may not know is that both of these noblemen are skilled at certain aspects of siegecraft, Brakit in particular being a consummate and most innovative engineer, while Fil Tyluh’s skills and his experience are so notable that he was personally chosen for staff work by the great Sir Ehd Gahthwahlt—perhaps the foremost living siegemaster in all of the eastern lands—and served under him for almost a year at the siege of the rebel-held city of Vawnpolis, in the Confederation.”
Byruhn’s white-flecked, red-roan eyebrow rose perceptibly over his blue-green eyes. “Say you so, young cousin? Now that is truly information of importance. I had known, of course, that both are valuable men, but I had not been aware of just how valuable they are.
“I take it then that you wish to ride out to war with your squadron and the rest of us, whether you agree with my father, the king, or not? Let me warn you, though, my father is a most hidebound and stubborn man, and my nephew no less. They both were cast of the same mold in all ways, and they will likely get themselves and the majority of the rest of us killed out there. The Skohshun herald who rode into the city a month or so after my disaster pricked at the king’s pride, pricked deeply, and he and my nephew have been honing the blades of their axes and swords ever since the departure of that supercilious man.
“And if you think that your Freefighter archers and your Ahrmehnee dartmen might be used to soften up the pike hedge, don’t so illusion yourself. The king is most contemptuous of missile warfare—save in conditions of siege—which is why we of New Kuhmbuhluhn own so few trained archers or slingers or dartmen. He means to keep charging that pike hedge until either it breaks or there are not enough of us left to throw upon it.” The big prince paused and sighed deeply, his barrellike chest rising and falling. “And to be frank, young cousin, barring some last-minute miracle, it is my considered opinion that the latter will take place long before and rather than the former. But a man cannot but do what duty and honor and his love of king and country bid him.”
Smiling, Bili said, “Your grace, I just may have a spare miracle in my quiver. A certain one of my maternal ancestors, a duke of Zunburk, developed and perfected a way to break a pike hedge in depth without the use of missiles. But I will need the overt support of your grace… ?”
The big man’s grip increased to a painful intensity and his eyes sparkled. “Now, by Steel, I knew there was a good reason why I failed to have you… ahhh, eliminated, months ago at Sandee’s Cot. Cousin mine, you show me an honorable way—honorable by the king’s lights, that is—to get our heavy-armed horse through those goddam pikes and you’ll have every scintilla of support I can muster!” Then he matched Bili’s grin with one of his own. “Or does my young cousin want my sworn Sword Oath on this matter as well?”
“No, your grace, not this time,” Bili said bluntly. “I think that you have as much regard for your life and well-being as I have for mine own.”
Erica and Merle Bowley stood beside an abashed and rueful Horseface Charley and regarded the dead man sprawled on the roadway, part of his head blown away by one of the large explosive rifle bullets.
“I shot afore I knowed I’d done it,” stated Horseface baldly. “But one them fellers had jes’ done shot his ruckin’ prod in ‘mongst us, heanh, fust thang.”
Bowley sighed, shaking his head. “Hell, man, them fellers won’t troopers, they ‘uz hunters. They probly heerd ol’ Snuffles thar an’ took him fer a pot critter is awl. Wher’d them othuh two go to?”
“Back up the road, the way they awl come from, lickety-split, thet ‘un’s hoss, too,” answered Horseface.
“Caint say I fawlts ‘em none.” Bowley nodded. “Theseheanh ryfuls does make a hellaishus racket. But, buddyboy, we is awl in the shit fer fair, naow!”
“How so, Merle?” asked Erica. “With four rifles, I hardly think we need fear any party of hunters.”
Bowley shook his head. “It ain’ hunters I’m afeared of, Ehrkah. Thisheanh is thick-settled country, jes’ look at it— look at the shape the road is in and haow meny trees has done been chopped down, and not long ago, neethuh. Wher it’s they many fowks, you bettuh bet it’s gonna be troopers, too. It ain’t lahk we wuz a-raiding in a real bunch, Ehrkah. Ryfuls ‘r no ryfuls, it ain’t thutty of us, awl toll, and thisheanh ol’ boy he don’t lahk bein’ hunted lahk we awl wuz las’ fawl, back thar. ‘Sides, haow many of ‘em could we drop afore we dint have us no more bullits? And then who’d be big dawg?”
Erica frowned. “You’ve made your point, Merle. So what would you suggest we do? Go back the way we came?”
Again he shook his head. “Aw, naw, Ehrkah. Country mosta the way back is jest too flat; they’d run us daown, fer shore, ‘fore lowng. Naw, I thank we best crowss the road and head up inta them hills, thar. It’ll shore be rough ridin’, but it’ll be a lot rougher fer troopers, you bettuh b’lieve.”
He turned to the other Ganiks. “Sumbody tek thet feller’s prod and awl. Prod ain’t nowher near good as a ryful, but it shore Lawd’ll thow a rock futhuh nor enybody c’n heave a dart.”
Immediately he was apprised of the killing of one of his hunters by the other two, young Ensign Justis dispatched a galloper to so inform Lieutenant MacNeill. After halting the column, he left it in charge of the corporal and himself rode forward with half his spear-armed pikemen and the two remaining hunters—one of them with a prod, one with a cross-bow. Wounded game did not shoot back when loosed upon; the only things he could think of that did were men, likely Kuhmbuhluhners, scouts or spies. He led them at a slow walk, his barred visor still open, but his sword blade bared and sparkling with a silvery sheen for all of its well-honed length.
As they neared the site of the attack and slaying, the pink-cheeked officer spread his baker’s dozen pikemen out in a crescent-shaped line that spanned the road and overlapped on both flanks into the roadside brush and saplings. Wisely, he kept his only two missilemen at the southward-bowed center of the line and rode just behind them.
The pikemen rode forward in grim silence, hefting and rehefting the short, broad-bladed hunting spears, feeling very vulnerable and wishing strongly that the familiar, comfortable formation was arrayed on either side and in front and behind, in place of so much dangerous emptiness. Approaching this someone or ones who had already slain one of their number, they all longed to be on their own two feet, supported by their sturdy legs instead of astride the small, shaggy, shedding ponies. They longed to be grasping their heavy pikes, three man lengths long, rather than these overshort, overlight spears which would not be, could not be at all effective until they were much closer to the unknown, not yet sighted enemy than they had the slightest wish to be. Even the sergeant’s roared threats as he drilled and redrilled them and their mates would have sounded homey and comforting in their ears as they kneed their scrubby mounts forward toward the possibly deadly unknown.