Lord of Janissaries (123 page)

He shook his head. “Hal, sometimes I have nightmares about the greyskins cutting off our ammo right when somebody has really learned how to fight us. Combined-arms army, gunpowder and guns, professional soldiers, logistics, the whole bag. You ever heard the definition of the Second Law of Thermodynamics?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“ ‘You can’t win, you can’t break even, and you can’t get out of the game.’ Sometimes this whole mess seems like that. Not that it isn’t better than being dead, but still . . .”

“Sarge, you’ve been listening to the captain too much and drinking too little. Mind if I break out some of Akkilas’ private stock?”

“Go ahead.”

* * *

Mad Bear walked until the fires around the camp faded in the light of the rising Child. He took bow, quiver, sword, and dagger, for this was not a true vigil in which a man had to trust to the protection of the gods. Some of the camp’s Ironshirts might have had the courage to lie in wait in the darkness. He did not care to be easy prey for them.

At last he reached a grassy hummock, drove his sword into the ground so that it might drink the strength of the earth, and sat cross-legged beside it. It was as well that this was no vigil, because for once in his life Mad Bear did not even know what to ask the gods, let alone what answer he wished to hear.

By all the laws and customs in war Mad Bear had ever known, the kill of Prince Akkilas belonged to the warrior Roscoe. Yet it seemed his dearest wish to give it to Mad Bear, for all that this was taking honor not only from himself but from his sons.

Perhaps he had no sons? Some warriors took vows to lie apart from women until they had accomplished some great deed or sworn vengeance. They accepted the danger that their line might die with them, if they died before fulfilling their vow. Certainly not all the wizard-warriors were like that. His blood-brother had been married twice, as well as having concubines in between.

Roscoe might be such a man—if such oaths were known among the wizard-warriors. Mad Bear did not know, nor did he have much hope of learning soon. The gods had sent the wizard-warriors and made them—or at least some of them, for now—friends of the Silver Wolves. That was enough. A warrior who had sworn to aid these—whatever they might be—whether the gods said yea or nay—well, he had small claim on the gods for easy answers to hard questions.

Mad Bear decided that the gods had given him enough and more than he had any right to. He had his life, his wits, his eyes, ears, and tongue. If he lost none of these, he might in time know all that he needed to know of the wizard-warriors.

The wizard-warriors were like a great storm, blowing
mekar
seeds across the land. They blew some men to victory, others to defeat. Tonight they had blown him to victory.

Mad Bear laid a captured sword on the earth beside his own, raised his arms to the sky, and began to sing his victory song.

28

Chief Captain Volauf entered the tent as Matthias was pulling on his gauntlets.

“Good day, my lord. You are awake early.”

“I have been at my prayers, that Vothan may grant us his favor.”

In truth Matthias had barely slept. Many things could happen in battle, and Vothan One-eye was notoriously fickle, even toward those who defended his honor. He had always been so. Yet the cause of the High Rexja had prospered under the House of Vothan.

That was not all. This mad new religion, this fusion of the ravings of Roman scholars and the worst of the preachings of the House of Yatar, had driven many of the priests of Yatar to alliance with Vothan. Matthias had seen that happen in the Five, and even in Drantos. If they did no more than send information, they served. When the Ottarn bridge gave way and carried off three pack mules, Matthias had learned almost as soon as Ganton.

“Captain, have you new reports?”

“Only one, Honorable. In addition to Morrone’s band in the north, we have heard that a small band of raiders has come from the west. My scout officer believes it is the remains of a force sent to harass Captain General Ailas.”

“Ah.” Ailas held Ganton’s western army in check. Poised to threaten the High Road past Dravan, Ailas was doing greater service by existing than most generals could give by a victory. “Nothing more on Morrone?”

“No, Honorable. Our supply trains now require heavier escorts, but Morrone’s raiders are more an annoyance than a real threat.”

“Good. When we have won this battle we will deal with him.”

“Otherwise, Honorable, all remains as it was last night. We have twice Ganton’s strength. Our light horse is spread across his rear. A mixed blessing, Honorable. We cut into his supply, and we can turn any retreat into rout, but the knowledge that we have forces behind him will make his men fight all the harder.”

Matthias smiled grimly. “They do not know how much strength we have behind them. I had rather have my enemies looking over their shoulders. And now that one of the greatest of their star weapons lies at the bottom of the Ottarn to amuse the hydras, they have even more to fear.”

“I have never faced the magic of guns before,” Volauf said.

“I have. In the south. Captain, guns need firepowder. That is not made by magic, and without firepowder the guns are as useless as unstrung bows or empty quivers.”

I also have friends who went with the traitor Strymon, but that is no concern of yours, Captain Volauf.

“Your pardon, Honorable, but it is my duty to ask. Are you certain we should begin this battle before Prince Akkilas comes to lead the host?”

“It is your duty to ask. A moment.” Matthias went to the chest that stood at the foot of his bed, and took out a parchment. He unrolled it. “You see the Seal of Issardos. See this.”

Volauf read. “I see. He shows great confidence in you.”

“You mean that he shows less in the prince. Captain, we carry Prince Akkilas’ banner before us, and we give our orders in his name. The bards will say that he won this battle. You and I will know different.”

“You and I,” Volauf said. “And Chancellor Issardos.”

“Yes, of course. You will not be forgotten, Captain Volauf.”

“I thank you, Honorable.”

Matthias waved his hand in dismissal. “Is my horse ready?”

“Yes, Honorable.”

“I will be there presently.”

* * *

Ganton was watching the Second Division move into position when the messenger reached him.

“Majesty, a bheroman of Toris’ host has ridden close to our front and challenges you to single combat.”

“Indeed,” Ganton said. “And who might he be?”

“Majesty, he gives his name as Roald of Caemoran. He says that you are no true Wanax if you refuse him battle to hide behind wizards’ magic.”

“Indeed,” Ganton said in a tone that made the messenger flinch. “Lord Hilaskos, have my squires bring my warhorse to Prince Strymon’s banner.” He put spurs to his palfrey. After a moment he swallowed his rage and reined in the horse, so that his guards would not have to tire their own mounts to keep up with him. The fate of Drantos today might rest on how many fresh horses the host could command at the end of the battle.

When Ganton reached Strymon’s banner he reined in and used his binoculars to inspect the area between the two armies. An armored man on a bay gelding walked his horse in a large circle. The red and white of his shield matched the pennon on his lance. Every time he completed a circle he shouted, “I am Roald of Caemoran. I call the Wanax Ganton of Drantos to honorable single combat. If he comes not, I denounce him as no true Wanax, but a coward who hides behind godless wizardry!”

Ganton listened to this three times while waiting for his warhorse to arrive. Finally he pulled out his battle-axe, his only weapon, and wrapped the thong around his wrist.

“Your Majesty!” exclaimed Strymon. “You are not going down there as you are, with neither armor nor weapons nor warhorse, to fight a full-armed—”

Ganton whipped the battle-axe up and in a circle over his head. “This is enough weapon for any man.”

“Your—” Strymon lowered his voice. “Ganton, my friend, it is not well done to call a Wanax and ally a fool, but—”

“The more reason, then, for not doing it. I know what I am about, and I do not think Roald of Caemoran does.”

“At least let me take the challenge as your champion!”

“No. It is not you that Roald calls a coward who hides behind wizards.”

“My friend, you have told me that when one becomes Wanax, one can no longer act as one wishes. I believe this. Are you not being foolish, to endanger the day in this way?”

“I thought on this as I rode here,” Ganton said. “The Lord Rick is not here. We lost a star weapon when the bridge collapsed. The clouds are low, so that the balloon will not be useful. The army knows that we have little enough of wizardry today, and we face forces larger than our own. I think it can do no harm to show our men that their Wanax has not forgotten the old ways.”

“Then be careful, my friend.”

“I will. Be ready to avenge me if I fall.” He turned to his staff officers. “You will follow Prince Strymon as you would me.”

“Sire—”

“Silence. You have your orders.” He kicked his horse to a walk.

“Go with—Yatar and Christ,” Strymon said.

As Ganton rode down the hill, he shifted his Browning so that he could draw it with his left hand, and clicked off the safety.

* * *

Tylara could not hear the conversation between Ganton and Strymon, but she could see Ganton ride out to accept the challenge.

He is no foolish knight, yet he acts like one. This is not the act of the Wanax I saw in council.
Her heart turned to lead. For a moment all the assurances of Apelles and Yanulf seemed vain lies. Not given the sacrifice they demanded, the gods
were
striking at those about her, starting with the Wanax, whom they had just afflicted with madness. . . .

The moment passed swiftly.
He is in range of my best archers. No. Half our knights would ride away if it appeared that the Wanax had so little honor. I cannot even avenge him that way.

She watched with dread as Ganton rode down the hill.

When Ganton rode out into the circle Roald had trampled, the bheroman shouted and spurred his horse to a canter.

His horse is tired,
she thought.
And Ganton has a fresh mount.

The Wanax rode directly toward Roald. Roald’s lance came down. The bheroman spurred his horse into a lumbering gallop. Three lengths before they met, Ganton swerved sharply to his left. Roald’s lance tried to sweep in a circle to follow, but Ganton was already out of reach of the point. Then he turned to his right and rode directly at Roald.

Ganton passed just behind the bheroman, and as he did he swept his axe in a backhand blow at Roald’s neck. As Roald crumpled and fell, Ganton rode back toward his own lines without looking back.

There was a moment of silence, then the deafening cheers of the army.

* * *

The ridge was low, but high enough to overlook the battlefield below. When Tylara rode up to Ganton’s banner, she saw that the staff had placed a low trestle table there for Ganton’s maps.

She was the last to arrive. The most senior officers were seated at the table. Other staff officers stood behind them. At the foot of the table Apelles looked uncomfortable in robes hastily altered to show his new station. Drumold indicated a place to his right, where she could look across the maps to the battlefield.

It had taken years of Rick’s instruction, but she was now familiar enough with maps that she needed only a cursory glance at the field below to see what was represented on them. Still she took her time with her binoculars, looking at the field and then back to the map.

The army was divided into three Divisions. Each Division had horse, foot, and guns, and was a small army complete in itself. Ganton had heard Rick say that was the way armies were organized on his home world. Tylara wondered if that would be so appropriate here, but the Wanax was proud of what he had done. She looked beyond the host of Drantos to the enemy.

“Griffin,” she said almost to herself.

“Yes,” Ganton said. He nodded to acknowledge her arrival. “They raised the banner of Prince Akkilas an hour ago. Your pardon, Lady, if I do not begin again. I do not think we have much more time.”