“But the crowning reason, the one which leads me to believe all of the rest is truth, is the unpleasant fact that there appears to be a werewolf preying upon the burkers and the garrison of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk. The descriptions Duke Bili rendered of the habits of the creature, the various attacks, the fact that hounds become hysterical and refuse to trail the beast, not to mention the evidence that it survives what would be death wounds to a less uncanny animal, these all lead me to the belief that this bane of that unhappy burk can be nothing save a werewolf.”
The brigadier shuddered. “No wonder he and they are more than willing to sacrifice advantages to get out of that city.
“All right, Djahn, I’ll dispatch another galloper to our glen, and then you and I will go render your formal report to my staff and the regimental commanders. Did you bring back anything decent to drink, by chance?”
“Indeed, yes,” smiled Sir Djahn. “Duke Bili gifted me a small keg of an old and potent applejack.” He produced his silver flask and proffered it.
The third night on the road from Skohshun Glen, Johnny Kilgore’s big, bred-up pony ambled into camp with the old Ganik in the saddle and a hogtied captive jouncing uncomfortably belly-down, across the withers. “Guess whut I founded back up the trail a ways, ginrul,” he crowed good-naturedly. “A pegleg Skohshun, thet’s whut. Too bad I ain’ still a bunch-Ganik—he’s a young ’un and’d be raht tenduh and tasty, I ’low.”
General Jay Corbett set aside his tin plate of rabbit stew and stood up to regard the fine-boned, one-legged young man standing unsteadily before him. The pale face was drawn with strain and pain, but it still bore the stamp of firm resolution and the gaze of the eyes was steady, purposeful.
“Ensign Thomas Grey, I presume,” he said wryly. “Does your mother know where you are, Tom?”
“Of course she does, sir,” the boy snapped. “Not that it is needful for her to know, for I am no child, if that is what you meant to imply, General Corbett, sir.”
“How the hell did you get here so fast?” Corbett demanded. “Those charges blocked that defile solidly, of that I’m more than certain. And no man could have gotten a horse over any part of those mountains—of that I’m equally certain.”
A smile flitted briefly about young Grey’s lips. “No, sir, no horse, but a mountain pony; one of those ponies ridden into the glen from without, last spring, by one of Dr. Arenstein’s wild men. Had I been able to be astride a decent horse, your rearguardsman there would never have caught me. But those little ponies have no endurance, no heart. The cursed beast foundered yesterday.”
Corbett nodded. “So you came on afoot, despite all the odds. Knowing full well that your chances of getting through us and on to the field army ahead of us ranged from infinitesimal to nonexistent, still you hobbled along that deep-rutted trace for more than twenty-four hours. Unless you stopped long enough to sleep, which I doubt.” Thought of the suffering the boy must have endured brought a lump into Corbett’s throat. Gruffly, he demanded, “So, now, what am I to do with you?”
The young man drew himself up to rigid attention. “Sir, I was aware of what you told his lordship you would do to any Skohshun messengers, aware of my fate if caught. If I’ve a choice, I would prefer the sword or the axe to the rope. I have made my peace with God, sir. I am ready to ... to die.”
Corbett’s throat contracted painfully around the still-present lump and he found it necessary to noisily clear it before he said, “Lord love you, lad, I have no intention of killing you. Give me your parole, and I’ll set you on a mount and let you ride back to the glen, after breakfast, in the morning.”
But Grey shook his head stubbornly. “I would that I could, sir, but I cannot. I have undertaken a grave responsibility and I shall not willingly rest or tarry until my obligations are discharged.”
Jay Corbett sighed. He should have known better, he reflected. Of course such a young man as Thomas Grey would not give a parole unless he intended to abide by its conditions.
The officer shrugged. “All right, Gumpner, we now have a prisoner. Get him fed and bedded down for the night ... under guard, of course. And please have the corpsman take a look at the stump of his leg, too. I’ll give long odds it’s rubbed raw and bleeding after all that walking on this abomination of a wagon track.”
As the mindspeak abilities of Sir Geros Lahvoheetos were at best marginal, the initial contact with Bili of Morguhn and all subsequent ones needs must be of a roundabout nature. Bili farspoke the prairiecat Whitetip, who then mindspoke one of the Kindred warriors who had ridden out in search of Bili with Geros, Hari Danyuhlz, who then spoke to Geros and mindspoke that night’s reply back to Whitetip for farspeak transmission to Bili. Even so, it was far and away faster and easier than would have been the only alternative—trying to get gallopers the full width of the plain through the Skohshun lines and back again the same distance.
“The battle is set,” beamed Bili, “for the second hour after dawn, eleven days from today, and I want your force to stay just where you now are until the last possible moment, and give yourselves just enough time to reach the battlefield by the third hour after dawn of that day. It is imperative that no one of you come out of those mountains, for if these Skohshuns even suspect your existence so close, they will surely call off the battle; the only reason they are willing to fight it at all is that they think to win it, considering that they outnumber us.
“Now when you attack them, Geros, whatever you do, don’t just charge in, hell for leather, and try to hack your ways through that pike hedge. That’s just what they will want you to attempt, and it cannot be done. No, sit off at easy dart range and let your archers and Ahrmehnee dartmen and the Kuhmbuhluhn axe throwers whittle the formations down a bit, disorganize the bastards, take out their front ranks, their sergeants and any officers you can spot and range. Then you charge.
“These Skohshuns seem to basically scorn missilemen of any sort and they number no archers in their ranks. They do have a few crossbowmen, prodmen and slingers, but hardly enough of them to worry about, and they will probably be on camp guard, anyhow. They have also three highly unusual, very long-range missile weapons called ryfulz which are invariably fatal and very accurate, so if you lose a few men at seemingly impossible distances, don’t be surprised.
“That’s all for now, Geros.
“Now, Whitetip, please mindspeak Count Sandee.”
Near noon of the day after the capture of Ensign Grey, the vanguard, hearing fast-approaching hoofbeats from up ahead, ambushed and captured another Skohshun. The man they hustled back to the head of the main column was about five years the senior of Thomas Grey, but looked and acted to be of the same breed and kidney.
Corbett questioned the galloper briefly. Again, he offered a parole that was courteously refused. So, then, he pushed on with two captive Skohshuns rather than one. Early the next morning, that number became three and the officer wondered if he might run out of men to guard the prisoners, if this pace continued. Like it or not, he might have to begin executing captured Skohshun messenger riders.
But the next stranger, brought in by Merle Bowley, would require no guard. He was another Ganik, he was armed with a Broomtown rifle and he was mounted upon a finely bred, most spirited riding horse. His name was Counter Tremain.