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matter as much as it would have a year ago. I don't see how the war can last a
whole lot longer, not after what we've done the past couple of days."
"I hope you're right, sir. I'd like to go home, get back to the life I left
when the fighting started," Nahath said. He was a colonel of volunteers, not a
regular at all. When the war ended, he would take off his gray uniform and go
back to running his farm or putting up manufactories or practicing law or
whatever he did.
John didn't know what that was. He'd never asked. He would be glad to go on
soldiering, even if he'd never again lead another army the size of the one
he'd commanded here. He didn't see how he could; the only enemies in his
lifetime who'd truly challenged Detina were other Detinans.
He said, "I've seen regular officers who didn't do their jobs as well as you
do, Colonel." He spoke the truth; Nahath was everything anyone could want as a
regimental commander, though he might have been out of his depth trying to
lead a brigade or a division.
Nahath touched the brim of his gray felt hat now. "I thank you very much, sir.
I've done my best, but this isn't my proper trade." He looked north, toward
what was left of the Army of Franklin. "What will we do tomorrow?"
"I don't know, not for a fact. I spoke with Doubting George a little while
ago, but he didn't say," John the
Lister replied. "Still, my guess would be that we'll go on driving them as
hard as we can. I don't think the general commanding will be content to let
the traitors' remnant get away. If we can take that army off the board
altogether . . ."
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"Yes, sir. That would be a heavy blow to whatever hopes the north has left."
Nahath nodded. "Good. I
hoped you'd say something along those lines." Saluting, he did a smart
about-face and marched off.
Whatever he does back in New Eborac, I'll bet he's a success at it
, John thought. Then he started to laugh. It wasn't necessarily so. Marshal
Bart, the one southron officer who'd won victory after victory even in the
dark days when few others did, had failed at everything he tried away from the
army. Only after he redonned his gray tunic and pantaloons did he show what he
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could do.
Shouts and cheers rang out not far away. John hurried over to find out what
was going on. Picking his way past the campfires came Hard-Riding Jimmy. Every
man who saw the young commander of unicorn-riders tried to clasp his hand or
pound his back or give him a flask. By the way he swayed, he'd already swigged
from quite a few flasks.
John came forward to congratulate Jimmy, too. "Well done!" he said. "Without
you, we couldn't have broken them the way we did."
Jimmy's answering grin was wide and foolish; yes, he'd done some celebrating
before he got this far.
"Thank you kindly, sir," he said. "You didn't do too bad yourself, by the Lion
God's holy fangs."
"Every day another step," John said. On a night where Hard-Riding Jimmy and
even Doubting George were sounding like the great Detinan conquerors of days
gone by, the men who'd subjected the blonds, he could afford to be, or at
least to sound like, the voice of reason. He added, "We took a big step
today."
"None bigger," Hard-Riding Jimmy said. "No, sir, none bigger. I've never seen
the traitors go to pieces like this before." He flashed that grin again. "I
hope I see it some more."
"Do you expect anything different from now on?" John asked.
Jimmy shook his head. "Not me. They're ruined. It'd take a miracle no, by the
Thunderer's balls, it'd take a miracle and a half
 for them to rally after this. Bell's got to be fit to be tied from what we
did to him."
"He's still got Ned of the Forest," John remarked, curious to see what the
mention of one leading commander of unicorn-riders would do to the other.
"Ned's a fine officer," Hard-Riding Jimmy said with the owlish sincerity of a
man who'd had a little too much to drink. "A
fine officer, don't get me wrong. But we whipped his men, and we'll whip 'em
again next time we bump into 'em, too. They're plenty brave. Never
braver don't get me wrong." If he hadn't had too much to drink, he wouldn't
have repeated the phrase. "But he hasn't got enough troopers and he hasn't got
enough proper weapons to give us a real fight."
"Those quick-shooting crossbows make that much difference?" John asked.
"Hells, yes! I should say so!" Hard-Riding Jimmy exclaimed. "Sir, inside of
five years the ordinary crossbow will be gone from the Detinan army. Gone, I
tell you! It makes a decent hunting weapon, but that's all. With
quick-shooters, we'll sweep the blond savages off the eastern steppe like
that." He snapped his fingers, but without a sound. He tried again. This time,
it worked. "
That
, gods damn it."
"Well, after what you've done the past two days, I can't very well tell you
you don't know your business," John the Lister said. He clapped Hard-Riding
Jimmy on the back again. Grinning still, the commander of unicorn-riders
lurched off.
"Brigadier John!" a runner called. John turned and waved to show he'd heard.
The messenger hurried over to him. "I'm glad I caught up with you, sir.
Doubting George's compliments, and the orders for the morning for your wing
are hard pursuit. You are to take an eastern route, as best you can, and try
to get
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ahead of the traitors. That way, with luck, we can surround them and wipe them
out."
"Hard pursuit by an eastern route," John repeated. "I'm to get out in front of
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the Army of Franklin if I
can. My compliments to the commanding general in return. I understand the
orders, and I'll obey them."
With another salute, the runner trotted away.
George had brought engineers forward to put more bridges across the stream
that had slowed pursuit the evening before. As soon as they got near the far
bank, northern snipers started shooting at them. The southrons pushed
repeating crossbows up to the edge of the stream and hosed down the brush on
the north bank of the stream with quarrels. They sent men in gray in there
after the northerners, too. All that slowed but did not stop the sniping.
Slowing it let the bridges reach the north bank and let the southrons cross
with ease. After that, the snipers fell back.
Riding at the front of his column of footsoldiers, John the Lister pushed
ahead as hard as the tired men would go. Every once in a while, off to the
west, he got a glimpse of the remnants of the Army of
Franklin, which was also moving north at something close to double time. The
traitors had to be even more weary than his own men. How long could they
continue that headlong withdrawal? John grinned.
Not long enough, or so he hoped.
He was about to order his men to swing in on the fleeing northerners when a
crossbow quarrel zipped past his head. If he could see Bell's men, they could
see him, too. And even Bell, no great general as he'd proved again and
again could see what the southrons had in mind.
Bell's rear guard came from Ned of the Forest's troopers. They were, as every
southron who'd ever met them had reason to know, a stubborn bunch. Here they
were fighting mostly dismounted from a stand of trees that gave them good
cover.
John the Lister wanted to roll over them even so. He wanted to, but discovered
he couldn't. They knocked his first attack back on its heels. Cursing, he
shouted, "Deploy! We'll flank them out, by the
Lion God's mane!" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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