Lord of Janissaries (117 page)

“Father Sun, Father Horse, Father Grass, see us.”

“They see us,” responded Murphy.

“We have crossed the water.”

“This we have done.”

“We have shed our sweat in the running.”

“This we have done.”

They recited how they had jumped over the fire, drunk water and milk, eaten bread, and mingled their blood. Finally Mad Bear shouted, “Are we not brothers?”

“We are brothers!” Murphy yelled, and the Westmen joined in. “They are brothers!” A young boy handed Murphy another bowl of fermented mare’s milk.
Even without blood in it, it’ll never replace Tullamore Dew. But at least this time I don’t have to hold my nose.

Elliot was playing the part of Murphy’s kinsman. He came forward with Murphy’s coveralls and rifle. Elliot wasn’t going on the raid; Jack Beazeley, newly promoted to corporal, would be the senior man.
Jack’s a good guy. If it comes to a fight, he’s got his head screwed on with the nose to the front.

Elliot handed Murphy his M-16. He slung it, sat down, and started in on a bowlful of raw horsemeat and wild-grass stew the youngster handed him.
The Savoy Grill this ain’t. But we won’t leave camp until just before True Sun-set tomorrow, and I’ll probably be too busy to sit down and eat during the day.

* * *

“Colonel—”

“Dammit, Art, I’m going. I don’t give a damn what they say about Prince Strymon’s honor; he’s got my wife and I’m going to go get her back.”

“And just how are you going to do that?”

Rick laughed. “Good question, but look, I’m not doing a damn bit of good here. You can handle this situation as well as I can. Wait until Murphy draws off some of that cavalry, and keep the pressure on to take up the slack. This is a holding operation. We can’t win the war out here.”

“No, but we can sure lose it here, Colonel.”

“Can, but won’t. The worst that happens is you withdraw to Dravan. You can do that.
I
can’t, without everybody thinking I’ve lost my touch.”

Mason looked thoughtful. “You know, that just about makes sense.”

“I’ll tell you something else that makes sense. I know how to handle Tamaerthan pikes and archers. Ganton doesn’t, but he’s got them.”

“Yeah. Okay, I buy that. But damn all, Colonel, those ironhats won’t obey me—”

“Sure they will, for all you have to do. Look, we sent all the big cheese types off to Ganton. All you’ve got to deal with are some minor barons and city fathers. They’ll
want
somebody to tell them what to do. If you can’t do that as chairman of a council of war, I’ve promoted the wrong man.”

“Maybe you—”

“And don’t give me that crap. Look, Art, all we’re doing here is keeping Ailas from coming into Drantos by the back door, and at the same time making him keep his army here instead of going over to join Strymon’s force headed for Edron. He wins just by existing, but so do we! And don’t tell me you can’t do that as well as I can, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“Colonel—”

“Art, I’m taking a couple of squadrons and getting the hell out of here, and you’re going to shut up and soldier.”

24

The Wanax Ganton reined in at the foot of the gallows. He looked up as a gust of wind rattled the dangling chains.
Ajacias will be hanged here. I think I shall build a new gallows for him. Then his ghost will not trouble the good men he killed here.

Of course the Christians said that a man like Ajacias would go to Hell and suffer torments from the Devil until the end of time. It pleased Ganton to imagine Ajacias spending eternity in the hands of a being like the Roman
quaestionarii. But does that mean I may take no vengeance on the wretched traitor myself? I shall have to ask Octavia or Archbishop Polycarp.

The Demon Star silhouetted horsemen on the crest of the hill. Lord Enipses and Lord Hilaskos were forming up patrols. Each led a hundred lances, charged above all things with the Wanax’s safety. With Strymon’s camp only fifty stadia away and his scouts perhaps no farther than the other side of the hill, a century of lances was none too few.

A voice called the challenge and Lord Drumold replied. Someone else observed loudly that if a certain misbegotten son of a she-goat was late serving the Wanax’s dinner, in the morning he’d find himself serving the Wanax’s hounds.

Ganton called a squire to hold his horse and dismounted. He wanted to set a good example for those of his knights whose pride in their shiny-bright armor kept them in the saddle, never mind how their preoccupation with their looks wearied their horses. Hadn’t the bheromen and knights of the Wanax of Frankia lost a great battle to the Wanax of Angeland by doing just that? Lord Rick had told him such a story, and his tales of battle rang true, even when he himself had not been in the field. To be sure, Lord Rick spoke of battles as though he had been in all of them.
To have been in so many he would have to be three hundred years old. No matter. Those are fine stories for a winter night, and they give soldiers courage and trust in our captain general.

The Lord Rick is as wise in war as if he really had been a soldier for centuries, and so far he has freely given his wisdom to the Realm of Drantos. Yatar, Vothan, and Christ grant that he continue.

Food and Lord Drumold arrived at the same time. Ganton and Drumold drew a little apart and ate their sausage, bread, and cheese in silence. It was a cold meal. Ganton had forbidden fires with the enemy this close, at least until the Second Division arrived tomorrow and the army was complete.

“Mergil,” Ganton called softly.

“My lord?”

“Go to the duty commander and have him send two squadrons of Hussars to patrol the roads between the First Division and the Second.”

“Ye suspect my son may have forgotten?” Drumold asked.

Ganton listened for any tone of resentment but heard none. “Well, my lord, with the enemy so close in front, perhaps my lords Balquhain and Teuthras have not given thought to the rear. We are all still learning the new ways of war. But I am Wanax, and if any important thing is left undone, it will be on my head.”

“Aye,” Drumold muttered. “We all learn from my daughter’s husband.” He went back to his sausages and cheese.

And I thank Yatar for this alliance. We need the clansmen in this war.
“Not that Strymon can place any great force between Balquhain and Teuthras,” Ganton said. “Our scouts will warn us if Strymon sends out a troop of any size.”

Drumold grunted.

“But it does not take any large force of cavalry to ravage our supplies. We will need all our firepowder, and fodder for the horses—”

“Aye, lad—Majesty,” Drumold said. He chuckled. “And I too have commanded on nights before battles. ’Tis no easy thing.”

They heard the staff officer ride away to carry Ganton’s orders to the Hussars, then moments later the sound of galloping hoofbeats reached them from the far side of the hill. Ganton stood and lifted his battle-axe. Drumold continued with his sausages.

“Who is there?” the sentry demanded.

“Messenger from Lord Balquhain, for the Wanax Ganton!”

Indistinct mumbling, then several horses moved on at a trot. Ganton laid down his axe and sat again on his saddle as the messenger reached him.

“Majesty, Majesty! A message for you. An urgent message! I am bidden—”

“You are bidden to stop stammering and give me the message. The sooner the better.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ganton saw Drumold trying not to smile.

“Yes, Majesty. Prince Strymon has released the Eqetassa Tylara do Tamaerthon and enough of our captive knights to form an escort of honor. They have met with our scouts. Lord Balquhain will furnish them with fresh mounts and send them to you guarded by a squadron of his Hussars.”

Drumold opened his mouth and dropped a piece of cheese. The Wanax smiled to himself and turned away. Give him a moment to compose himself. He has known for some time that his daughter was alive, and we heard from the priests of Yatar that she is well, but who can know? And there is the evil rumor that Tylara went alone to charge Strymon’s cavalry at Piro’s Hill. That must be a lie, but it also must have given her father many sleepless nights.

“My Lord Mac Clallan Muir. Will you ride with me to greet the Eqetassa?” Drumold’s face gave Ganton his answer.

“Was there any word of Lord Morrone?” It was said he’d survived the battle, but wounds and captivity might have done for him.

“I am bidden to tell you that the Lord Morrone is alive and well and giving honorable service to the Realm.” The messenger looked at Drumold, then at Ganton. “Your Majesty, this was for your ears only—”

Drumold swore and Ganton glared. “Pray cease insulting Lord Drumold. Or have you some reason to suggest that his son should not trust him?”

The messenger gulped. “Pardon, Majesty. Lord Balquhain says further that the Eqetassa brings an urgent message from Prince Strymon, heir to the Wanax of Ta-Meltemos.”

“Indeed.” Ganton spoke to keep his mouth from gaping open in a manner quite unfitting to a Wanax. What could his enemy want? “Then it is all the more important that we bring the Lady Eqetassa safely home.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “

“Squires! To horse!”

* * *

Ganton, Drumold, Balquhain, and Tylara huddled near the tiny fire. A score of bodyguards stood just beyond earshot, and the others patrolled farther out.

“Peace,” Ganton said. “On what terms?”

“Aid in surviving the Time,” Tylara said. “Alliance against invaders, and a promise of aid after the Demon has withdrawn from our skies.”

“And in return?” Ganton prompted.

“Ta-Meltemos withdraws from Drantos. Majesty, Prince Strymon may even lend his personal aid to Drantos. He has no love for Chancellor Issardos and his agent Matthias.”

“You speak of Prince Strymon’s promises. He is not Wanax of Ta-Meltemos. Not
yet
.”

Tylara forced a smile. “Majesty, Prince Strymon betrays neither Wanax nor father. The stories we have heard are true. Wanax Palamon has the mind of a child.”

Ganton shivered. “Yatar grant me death before that. It seems that we must meet, Prince Strymon and I, and soon. The loss of Prince Strymon’s army will do great harm to Toris.”

“Losing Strymon as a general will do even more,” Balquhain said.

“That is so. Now tell me, Lady Tylara, why was Morrone not released?”

Tylara sipped hot tea and brandy. “He did not wish it, Majesty. Lord Morrone said that my own release might be managed without offending the High Rexja’s captains or exposing Strymon’s suit for peace with Drantos. But Lord Morrone could not honorably accept his own unransomed release without that of all the other prisoners. That would surely give the enemy more than a hint of our plans.”

“Arrh. We could do wi’ a bit less honor an’ a bit more common sense.” Drumold spat into the fire.

Ganton’s face was unreadable. Tylara decided it didn’t much matter whether she knew what he was thinking.
One thing’s certain. There’s very little of the boy about our Wanax.
She found that thought oddly comforting.

“I continued to talk with Strymon,” Tylara said. “He fears no man, but he truly fears the Time.”

“As he should,” Ganton said.

“As he should. Then we received word that the vanguard of Toris’ great host was on the march to join us. We had also heard that the Host of Drantos was on its way north. Prince Strymon feared that battle was inevitable, and once our forces were engaged, peace might be impossible.

“Then Morrone escaped.”

“Escaped?” Ganton asked. “Surely he had given his parole—”

“It seems he had not. It had never been asked. From the moment they lifted him from where he fell he had been treated as guest, not prisoner—”

Balquhain chuckled. “An easy mistake.”

“So where is Morrone?” Ganton demanded.

“I know only the plan he told me,” Tylara said. “He intended to gather as many of his southern forces as he could, and any clansmen who might follow him, and go north to harass Toris and delay his march.”

Ganton smiled for the first time. “There are places north of the Sutmarg where fifty archers can stand off an army for a whole day. Perhaps we should send reinforcements.”