Lord of Janissaries (100 page)

A wave of mounted men from both attacking groups broke over a platoon of archers; Gengrich saw men using their bows like clubs as they went down. Beyond the horsemen he saw the pikes dipping. Arrows soared from inside the pikes.

A second wave, mostly from the second outfit. This time it broke against a platoon of archers helped by star weapons. More arrows flew from the oaks. The southern bow wasn’t the Tamaerthan longbow, but at a hundred yards it would punch through any armor these characters were wearing.

The survivors of the platoon moved toward the oaks. They hadn’t broken; they still had their bows and some of them had stopped to pick up enemy swords and helmets. Gengrich counted them; he’d passed twenty when he saw one carrying an H&K and two more with a limping figure between them.

“Larry!”

Joe Green sprinted out from the trees. He’d covered half the distance to his buddy Larry Brentano when the third wave came up the slope. Green went to one knee, snapped up his rifle, and let fly on full rock and roll. Gengrich, Boyd, and MacAllister slammed rounds into the cavalry as if there was no tomorrow and no shortages.

There were just too many men and horses. Even some of the riderless mounts were part of the mass that poured over Green before it melted away under the arrows and bullets. Gengrich used every obscenity he knew, then gaped as the last few archers picked their way through the shambles, still carrying Brentano.

“I good as tripped over my own feet, Arnie,” he said. “Busted an ankle, twisted my wrist. Did Joe . . . ? Oh hell,” as Gengrich’s expression answered him.

And still more of the blue-bannered bastards! Gengrich cursed the bad luck that had disabled their last onager three days back. The massed cavalry would have been a sweet target for a barrel holding ten pounds of black powder and ten pounds more of scrap iron and small stones.

“Hey, Corp!” shouted MacAllister. “Somebody new’s joined the fight!” From his perch in the tree he was the only one who could see over the heads of the attackers.

“Let ’em come,” Gengrich shouted. “There’s enough party for everybody.” For about one more attack, that is, and after that we’ll be out of bullets and damned low on arrows, and thank God Erika and Helena and Chrissie are back behind the Rustengans and Schultzy’s Diana is looking after them—

“Hey! That’s a Tamaerthan banner! Our friends have arrived!”

Gengrich slung his rifle with steady hands; this was one fight where he’d been too busy to get the shakes. Then he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

* * *

Gengrich and his men were spectators for the rest of the battle. A few minutes after the Tamaerthans hit the enemy from the rear, a cohort of Romans rode through the Rustengan line and took them in front. After that Gengrich’s men were in more danger of being trampled by their allies’ horses than of being overrun by their enemies.

Gengrich and Boyd watched the Romans mopping up the last of the blue banners.

“They do fight,” Alex Boyd said. “Wonder why?”

“Phrados has those Defender goon squads in their homes?” Gengrich mused.

“Or they got no homes at all. Yeah.”

“Listen,” Gengrich said. “M-16s I’d swear.”

“Schultzy’s got an H&K .308—”

“Yeah. Captain Galloway sent those troops.” Gengrich wanted to shout.

“Maybe it’s himself.”

“Either way, he cares. We don’t forget that.”

The fight was nearly over, but knots of enemy fought on. They were badly outclassed, caught between Roman legionaries with their horse archery and Rick Galloway-trained Tamaerthans. When the survivors finally broke and rode for their lives, they left more than a thousand behind.

* * *

“Okay, Alex, what’s the butcher’s bill?”

“Green KIA. Brentano will be out of action for a week anyway. Thirty-four locals KIA. Twenty-seven wounded, and three missing.”

“Not as bad as it might be.”

“Nope. And this chap wants to see you.”

Boyd indicated a young Tamaerthan nobleman cantering toward him. If the guy had been astride a choppered Harley and wearing a leather jacket instead of a mail coat, he’d have been a dead ringer for Panzer Klewicki, back on the Southwest Side. Was Panzer still riding, or had he busted his neck?

And did it matter, if you were never going to find out? For a moment Gengrich felt desperately homesick for Earth.

“Lord Gengrich?” The Tamaerthan reined in.

“The same. Who do I have the honor of thanking for his timely arrival?”

“Teuthras, son of Kevin, of Clan Mac Clallan. Coronel of the first Tamaerthan Hussars and cousin to Tylara, Eqetassa of Chelm,” he added.

“We are grateful. I do not doubt that we would have prevailed in the end, but with your help we have smitten our enemies far harder.”

“Indeed. They were a worthy foe. Have all of Phrados’ men fought so well?”

“These were the best. Although I do not know if all of the others had orders to press home their attack.”

“We can talk more of this later. I have orders from the Lord Captain General to welcome your return to his service. He has sent the Lords Bisso and Beazeley with new strength for your star weapons, firepowder bombs, medicines, and strong waters.

“We hoped we would be able to join you and give your weapons their new strength before this battle. However, when we reached you the enemy was already attacking. It seemed better not to wait. The Lord Rick often quotes an old commander of his, the High Rexja Napolyon—‘Ask me for anything but time.’ ”

So the captain was claiming to have served under Napoleon was he? When bigger and better whoppers are told . . . Anyway, that explained the other star weapons. Wonder how many rounds the captain sent, and what orders he gave Bisso about issuing them?

All around the battle was dying down. Most of the Romans had ridden off in pursuit. A lot of the Tamaerthans had dismounted, to loot the bodies and if necessary make sure the bodies were properly dead. They’d posted about half a squadron of sentries, though, and they were bringing the loot to a central collecting point. The captain had done a good job with these people, which was really no surprise but nice to see all the same.

For the first time in longer than he wanted to think about, Gengrich felt safe.

They were bringing in Joe Green’s body tied over a mule. As they did, Schultzy rode up, with blood on his Rustengan armor. He gave Boyd a sour look as he dismounted; Gengrich wondered if Alex had been sniffing around Diana again. Better ask, but not here. Right now Gengrich wanted to say goodbye to Joe Green. Joe hadn’t been any Audie Murphy, but wasting ammo was his only real vice. Otherwise he’d been reliable and hardworking and sensible, never making any trouble.
Damn all. Another hour—

Gengrich walked up to the mule carrying Green’s body. A man in peasant clothing stood on the far side, another at its head. A couple of boys were playing kickball with a bound-up leather jerkin whose owner would never need it again.

“Bring the body to Lord Brentano, fellows. He and Lord Green were comrades.”

“Yes, my lord—”

“Look out, Lord Gengrich!”

The high-pitched shout had Gengrich jumping back from the mule before the man on the far side came in under its belly and out with a knife in his hand. The blade leaped up, seeking a path under Gengrich’s armor and into his belly. As the blade rose, one of the boys suddenly flung the kickball. It hit the man in the head, making the knife thrust miss.

The man at the mule’s head had also drawn a knife, but now the mule was rearing. It threw him off balance. By the time he was steady on his feet, Gengrich had his Colt out. He shot the man in the chest as the first man closed for another stab. The boy ran up to the mule, vaulted over it with his hands on Joe Green, and slammed his bare feet into the back of the first man’s head. The blow knocked the man sprawling. The thongs holding the body broke, and body and boy together tumbled down on top of the man. Gengrich stamped hard on the man’s wrist. The knife dropped to the ground.

Now two more men were running toward Gengrich, and a third was unlimbering a crossbow. Teuthras spurred toward the archer, sword swinging down, and flew out of the saddle with a quarrel sticking out of his chest. His fall wasn’t all bad; it gave Boyd and Schultz a clear field of fire at the other two. Who hit which man first was never clear and didn’t matter anyway; both went down.

This left the archer, who was ten feet from a stray horse and already on the move, reloading and recocking his bow as he ran. Too many people around him for gunplay, too, and none of the dumb bastards were lifting a finger to stop him!

“Grab that man, you—!” yelled Boyd.

The other boy caught up with the fleeing man as he reached the horse. The crossbow twanged and a quarrel tore into the boy’s belly, but he already had his arms around the man’s thigh. Then his teeth sank into the leg, through leather and into flesh. The man screamed and beat at the boy. For a moment his head was clearly silhouetted—and a moment was all MacAllister ever needed for a clear shot at longer ranges than this. The man’s head snapped back and he fell off his horse on top of the boy.

“Medics!” yelled Schultz.

Gengrich said nothing. He really wanted to go off somewhere and have that case of the shakes. He knew he ought to see how Teuthras was—although any man who was sitting up already and swearing like that couldn’t be too badly hurt.

What he was going to do was ask a couple of pointed questions of a young lady named Monira. Brushing off Boyd’s hands and several other people asking questions, he strode toward his horse.

* * *

“The one by the mule was Alanis, from what you say. The other was Cyra.”

Was there a moment’s hesitation in the level voice, or a flicker in the steady blue eyes? Gengrich thought he detected both. And did that mean the disguised girl who’d taken out the crossbowman at the cost of her own life was somebody Monira didn’t know? From another House of the Wolf?

The idea that more of these pint-sized assassins were running around loose made Gengrich ill. Should he dose Monira with more babble juice?

No point. It would be Captain Galloway’s problem soon enough. But there was one question Gengrich had to ask.

“Why did—your friends save me?”

For a moment it looked as if Monira was really going to smile. But she only shrugged. “It was our duty, now that it serves Lady Tylara that you be alive. We swore an oath.”

We swore an oath. And because they’d sworn an oath, some of those kids had come all the way south to take him out, and others had come south after them to hide among his men, watching him without being detected ever since last winter. How many were there? He knew he’d never get an answer to that question.

At least there was one question he didn’t need answered. What would have happened to him if they’d decided it was their duty to keep trying to kill him? He knew that too well.

He started to say, “Thank you, Monira.” The words stuck in his throat. He had to get out of here, out of this dark smelly wagon where Monira and Euris sat half-naked in moldy straw with about as much expression as a couple of goddamned temple statues!

Gengrich was twenty yards from the wagon and bumping into Schultz before he knew where he was. Schultz grabbed his arm.

“Good Lord, Arnie. You look like your own ghost.” He lowered his voice. “Find what you were after?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You look like you could use a drink. Here.” He held up a flask and pulled out the cork. “McCleve’s Best Panther Piss. I traded Jack Beazeley for a couple of jugs.”

“Thanks. Ah. Good stuff. How’s Teuthras?”

“Frank says he’s got a couple of cracked ribs and a concussion. He got those falling off his horse. The crossbow just gouged the skin over his ribs. Frank’s disinfected it already.” Schultz grinned. “The guy nearly took Frank’s head off when he said he might miss the big battle. Said that was to call him as weak as a woman.” The grin faded. “I didn’t tell him the ‘boy’ who avenged him was a girl.”

“How—?”

“She asked for the knife. We let the other one use it. Mind if I have that back?”

“Be my guest.”

Schultz gulped from the flask, then stoppered it. “Arnie, do you suppose you could lean on Alex to stay away from Diana, before I have to? If I don’t, her family will take a hand.”

“I told Vinicianus—”

“Screw your Roamin’ Roman. Diana says the last couple of times Boyd dropped around, Vinicianus was with him. Didn’t lift a finger to stop his hassling her, either.”

“Schultzy, if you’re trying to make trouble—”

“Arnie, Horny Alex’s already doing that, with your Roman advisor backing him up. I’m trying to stop trouble.”

Gengrich reached for the flask again. “I’d better talk to both of them.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

Gengrich drank. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea, to play Schultzy and Vinicianus off against each other for the job of—oh, call it grand vizier. If Vinicianus was putting Boyd up to something that could get him shot—not that Alex ever needed much putting up where women were concerned. . . .

Not my problem anymore. The prodigal’s home and Daddy, you take over!

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