Steven Brust - Dragon

"Well," I said. "My Lord Fornia. I hadn't expected to find you here."

He didn't appear any better disposed toward me than he had been when last we met, which, now that I thought about it, was only about a quarter of a mile from this very spot. Coincidence, if you like. I don't, terribly. I did think, for a moment, about taking a shot at him; the reasons against were legion, including not having much chance of killing him, having less chance of escaping alive, and being certain that Morrolan wouldn't thank me even if I managed. But I did think about it.

Ori said again, "He's an assassin. Kill him."

I said, "Oh, let's not."

Fornia said, "No, he's not here to assassinate me. Whatever his threats, Morrolan would never countenance such an act."

"In war, my lord? In battle?"

"On the other hand," said Fornia, "I do not believe you are here as a negotiator. Morrolan would no more send an Easterner to negotiate with me than he would send a Jhereg to assassinate me. So what are you doing here, exactly?"

The warriors stared at me; behind them, no doubt, were more of Fornia's sorcerers. I turned my head and gestured to the battle to my right. It was worse than it had been; I could make out Morrolan, and around him, even from this distance, I saw corpses lying in heaps. Or, at any rate, bodies; I didn't have to be there to know they were dead.

I turned back to Fornia. "They're getting closer," I said. "Morrolan and his brigade. With Blackwand," I added.

He didn't seem unduly worried. I went on, "Morrolan didn't send me to kill you or to negotiate with you. He didn't send me at all. I'm here on my own."

"Indeed," said Fornia. "Do you, then, imagine you can kill me, here, now?"

Why wasn't he worried? If Blackwand was coming for me, I'd be worried. I'd be more than worried, I'd be bloody terrified. "No," I said. "Or, perhaps yes, I could, but it is not my intention to try."

His eyes strayed to the carnage below, now noticeably closer than when I'd reached them. He seemed unconcerned. "What then?" he said.

"I want to stop the slaughter."

He gave a short laugh. "You have become a soldier. Soldiers have wanted to stop the slaughter as long as the profession has existed."

That I believed. That, at any rate, had been my desire since the first time I was in battle. No, I suppose, since the second time; the first time was too confused, the second time, the morning after we had burned up the enemy's biscuits, is the battle I have the clearest memory of, and the greatest feeling of disgust, at least up until this point. It all seemed to happen slowly, with a neat succession of images burning themselves into my memory.

That time, the engineers, instead of digging the ditches and building up the earthworks, passed out shovels and guided us in doing so. The ground, I remember, was soft and easy to work with, a fact the engineers never let us forget. The air was dry—almost throat-parching dry—but cold. The sort of cold where any little bump or bruise has an additional sting to it. I hoped we wouldn't be doing any fighting, but I expected we would, and I was right.

So we dug a deep ditch and piled up dirt until it reached the height of our chests, and whether our clandestine activities in the night had anything to do with the fact that we were able to finish before they attacked, I don't know, but I'd like to think so. It makes me feel useful.

The juice-drum gave the call, "Rubbing Elbows," which meant to form the line, and we did, under Rascha's guidance. We were each given three javelins, which we stuck into the ground near us. Rascha had a spyglass, and her first word as she studied the enemy that was just too far away to see with the unaided eye was "Cavalry." Then she said, "Pass the word for pikes." Then, almost at once, "No, never mind. They're reforming."

This time Loiosh did not suggest I bug out; he probably didn't know why I'd stayed in the line last time, any more than I did, but figured there was no help for it and I was just bound and determined to remain for the fight.

Rascha continued studying their lines, occasionally making aimless gestures with her left hand; I assumed some sort of spell to help her see or to counter any clouding spells the enemy might be using.

"No cavalry," said Virt. "You won't have to fight your own kind yet."

"Good," I said, meaning it.

She said, "Smart, too. I wouldn't send horses against ditches and earthworks."

"What would you send against us?"

"Well, certainly not a spear phalanx—they don't like ditches and they hate earthworks. I'd say either mounted infantry or heavy infantry, like last time."

"Mounted infantry?"

"Ride like bastards up to the ditch, dismount, and come right over. They could get here awful fast, and the horses will shield them from javelins once they've dismounted. Why do you ask? We'll know for certain in a few minutes."

"Just killing time."

"Best to be killing something," put in Napper. His eyes were shining and he kept baring his teeth.

I shook my head. "You really like this, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. "And so do you, you just don't want to admit it."

"Mounted infantry," said Rascha.

"Good call," I said. "So, what do we do? Think the Captain will pull something clever?"

"Nothing clever to be done, really. We just have to hold this spot. Maybe Sethra will send someone in on their flanks, maybe not. Depends on how much of their forces they've committed and, well, on a lot of things we don't have any way of knowing."

I grunted.

Crown, from far down the line, called, "Make ready."

I drew my sword, transferred it to my left hand, and picked up a javelin.

"You really ought to borrow a heavier blade," Aelburr told me. I grunted again.

Virt said, "We'll be lucky to have time for two throws before they're on us."

"Yes," said Aelburr.

That meant one for me.

Rascha said, "Aim for the horses." That was funny; how was I supposed to aim for anything else? We could now see the line clearly—it stretched out to more than cover us; we were flanked on both sides, then. But that, of course, was not my concern. Whoever was guiding the battle was supposed to make sure our line didn't get rolled up, and if whoever that was blew his job, it wasn't my concern.

It was, of course, my life. I remembered what my grandfather had said about trusting your officers even though you know they aren't worthy of trust. My hand was cramping from gripping the javelin tightly and I made an effort to relax it.

I wasn't used to this. Analogous situations in the Jhereg just weren't analogous.

"You know, Loiosh, I don't think I'd care to make this a career."

Whatever answer he was going to give was masked by an intrusion into my head. It took a minute for me to figure out what it was, then I realized that it was Kragar, choosing just then to get in touch with me.

"What is it, Kragar?"

"Nothing important, Vlad, but—"

"Then forget it, for the love of Verra, I'm just a little busy right now."

"Okay. Later."

I looked up again, and there were many horses riding down on us, and Rascha said, "Javelins ready!" We all prepared to throw; I prepared to ignore the order to throw until I had at least some chance of hitting something. I wondered abstractedly if this time I'd be able to follow the flight of the javelin as it left my hand. I wondered if—

"Loose javelins!" called Rascha, and the sky darkened again. I waited a moment, then threw, instantly forgot that I wanted to see where my javelin ended up, and transferred my sword once more to my right hand.

Someone screamed, and someone yelled, " 'Ware sorcery!" so I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, and I noticed that there were an awful lot of horses writhing about on the ground. At first I thought someone had strung a trip-wire, then I realized that they were the result of the javelins, and then I wondered why I hadn't thought of stringing trip-wire myself, or, at any rate, why someone hadn't thought of it, and then some guy came bounding up out of the ditch in front of me so I stuck my sword through his neck and he went down.