David Drake - The Gods Return

Waldron had apparently decided it was, because they their blue and silver pennant was trotting down the cross-street to join the Ornifal red and gold. In Garric's mind, Carus was estimating how long it would be before the support element arrived. It'd be an hour before they marched. Besides, heavy infantry regiments wouldn't move as quickly as cavalry and skirmishers-Cordin shepherds turned soldier, carrying only light javelins and hatchets. "We'll both accompany the alerted troops," he said. He surveyed the cavalrymen walking their horses through the gate to form in the trampled ground just outside. Carus picked a rangy chestnut. "I'll take that horse," Garric said.

"Trooper, get your remount and follow." "Your highness!" said Waldron, looking up from the waxed tablet on which he was scribbling an order.

"I'm going, butI have a deputy." "And I don't, milord," Garric said,

"which is whyI'm going. I need to see the rats in action as soon as possible so that I know what we're dealing with." "Your highness, that's pointlessly dangerous!" Attaper said. "Nobody doubts your courage, nobody. Unless you distrust your officers to bring you an accurate information, you'll gain nothing from this." "I'm going, Attaper," Garric said, grasping the horn and crupper of the horse he'd appropriated. He mounted. By now he could probably have made a smooth business of it without his ancestor's reflexes. A squad of Blood Eagles rode up, each trooper holding the reins of two or more additional horses. Carus, watching through Garric's eyes, said,

"Attaper knew he couldn't argue you out of it, so he made sure he'd have a platoon ready to go too." After a moment he added with a mixture of amusement and regret, "I never had anybody who'd fight me as hard as Attaper does you, lad. I'd have taken their heads off if they tried. Which was all right as far as it went, but it meant people with good sense made sure to keep shy of me." A trooper had saddled Waldron's mount while he was scribbling out orders to his subordinates. Tossing the last tablet to a runner, the army commander swung into the saddle. Checking the four troops waiting in neat columns-and the skirmishers who weren't in the least neat but were certainly ready-Waldron snapped to his trumpeter, "Sound the advance!"

The trumpet call and the horns of the line troops-the Sandrakkan unit used a cow horn which sounded harsh and thin in comparison the brass instruments curling around the bodies of the Ornifal cornicenes-set the patrol into motion. Garric's borrowed horse stepped off even before he tapped its ribs with his right heel. "A trained soldier obeys commands in his sleep," Carus said. "Likewise a trooper's trained mount." He sounded wistful. Perhaps the ghost was remembering the time when he too needed sleep. Lord Waldron rode with the leading troop; so did the squad which had brought the alarm. It'd been remounted, and at least one of the replacement horses was clearly unhappy with his present rider. Garric smiled faintly. He was sorry for the trooper, but he was very glad that he hadn't borrowed a skittish mount himself. Prince Garric could've ordered somebody else to trade with him-but he wouldn't have. They trotted into woodland, a mixture of sweet gum and pine that must've sprung up from land that'd been clear within the past generation. The edge of the woods had been a mass of cedars sown too thickly to be of any size. The returning scouts had ridden the trees down as they approached the camp, providing easy entry for the Waldron's troop and the rest of the column. The forest proper was open enough that the cavalry had little difficulty beyond having to break ranks. The skirmishers hadn't seen any point in ranks to begin with. Here among the tree boles they were the equal of cavalry man for man, and the cheerful way they trotted among the troopers showed that they were well aware of the fact.

Waldron shouted something to a man riding with him, a member of the squad that'd brought the warning. That fellow reined back slightly so that the Blood Eagles just ahead of Garric overtook him. "Let him through, Attaper!" Garric shouted. "I want to learn about the terrain ahead!" The Blood Eagles parted, but Attaper himself dropped back with the line trooper. The man was Bresca, the squad leader who'd delivered the message. He leaned toward Garric as they rode along together and said, "It's the next valley and it's mostly cow pasture, sir. There's apple orchards on the north slopes, though, so they won't bloom till it's full spring and they can't catch frost. We'll come out through the apples. The l'tenant, he said he'd keep this side of the crest and not push unless, you know, he had to." There were challenges and less formal shouts from close ahead. The instinct of King Carus slapped Garric's hand to the hilt of his sword. He drew the long gray blade, either forged by wizardry or by a smith as skilled as Ilna was in her different craft. There didn't seem to be anything magical about the sword, but you couldn't dull its edge even by slashing rock. "That's the l'tenant, sir!" said Bresca. He hadn't learned that 'your highness' was the correct form of address when speaking to a prince.

It wasn't something that line soldiers often had to worry about, of course. "We're up with the rest of the troop!" "Hold up!" a cavalryman shouted. "Pass it back, hold up!" The call wobbled through the woods, each man turning in the saddle to send it on to those behind him.

"Waldron isn't using the horns because the rats are just over the hill," Carus noted with grim approval. "They'll have spotted the scout troop unless rats are stone blind, but horn calls will tell them to expect more company." He paused, then added, "I could've used more officers like Waldron." Garric joined Waldron and an officer he didn't think he'd met- "You have," snapped Carus. History claimed Carus had known the name of every man in his army. From what Garric had experienced in the years that his mind had been haunted by his ancient ancestor, history hadn't exaggerated very much. "Monner, of course." -along with the four troop leaders of the reaction force, and a grizzled fellow with a silk sash over his goat-wool tunic-the commander of the skirmishers. Though on foot and as old as Waldron, he'd kept up with the trotting horsemen. "Your highness," Waldron said with a bare nod to royal authority. "Monner's been keeping watch. The enemy's scattered through the valley, rounding up the livestock. The horse will charge the length of the valley in line so that the rats don't have a chance to form ranks, with Ainbor here's-" He gestured with his left hand to the skirmishers' commander. There was no love lost between cavalry and light infantry, but Waldron had always used the latter intelligently. "-men following to mop up those we don't kill in the first pass." The ghost in Garric's mind gave a curt nod of approval. "Carry on, milord," Garric said. He managed a smile to show that his approval was more than formal. The troop leaders trotted toward their guidons, snarling orders as they tried to align their men despite the broken forest. Waldron spoke quietly to the trumpeter; he nodded, holding his instrument ready. Garric's blood trembled with anticipation of the coming battle. He started to draw his long sword.

Attaper touched his elbow. "No, your highness," he said. "You're not wearing armor, and you'll seenothing beyond the point of your sword if you rush down into a melee. If you're an honorable man, you'll watch from the brow of the hill." "The bloody man's right!" snarled Carus.

"But by the Lady! if it was me-" Which fortunately it wasn't, as Carus knew as well as his descendent did. "Yes, of course, Attaper," Garric said mildly. "We'll find a suitable vantage point. Though I reserve the right to defend myself if the rats attack me." Attaper looked startled, then nodded agreement and removed his hand from Garric's arm. He wasn't a man who could laugh about his duties as a bodyguard.