Harry Turtledove: Advance and Retreat

“We ought to step up the pace,” he said. “Best to get along as far as we can before the rain starts coming down-because it will.”

“Yes, sir,” Colonel Biffle said, but his voice was troubled. A moment later, he explained why: “We’ll get a long ways in front of the pikemen and crossbowmen if we do, won’t we, sir?”

Except in the heat of battle, Ned was a man who seldom cursed. He felt like cursing now. Relentless motion was what he depended on to win his battles. However much he depended on it, though, he couldn’t use it now. A sour laugh helped him make the best of things. “When you’re right, Biff, you’re right. We’ve got to stay with ’em, sure as sure.”

He hated that. He felt tethered. He wanted to range freely with his unicorn-riders, to hit the southrons where they least expected it. At the head of the riders, he could do that when they were on their own. When they were also the eyes and ears for the rest of the army, he couldn’t, or not so easily.

The wind got stronger and colder and wetter. Before long, the rain he’d foreseen started falling. It was a hard, chilly rain, a rain that would have been snow or sleet in another few weeks. Even as rain, it was more than bad enough. For a little while, it laid the dust the unicorns-and the asses drawing the supply wagons, and the wagons’ wheels-kicked up from the roadway. But then, when it kept falling, it started turning the road to mud.

Ned of the Forest still didn’t curse. He felt like it more than ever, though. His unicorn began to struggle, having to lift each hoof out of the thickening ooze with a separate, special effort. What his unicorn was doing, he knew every other unicorn was doing as well. They wouldn’t be able to go fast now, no matter how much they wanted to.

As Ned yanked his hat down lower to help shield his eyes from the rain, Colonel Biffle said, “Other trouble with this is, it plays merry hells with the crossbowmen’s bowstrings. If we do bump into the southrons now, it’ll be swords and pikes, mostly.”

“Yes,” Ned said discontentedly. That wasn’t the sort of fight General Bell’s men were likely to win. In almost every battle, the southrons could put more men into the field than could King Geoffrey. If both sides could only chop and thrust, who had the edge? The one with the most soldiers, surely.

Down came the rain. Come on, Thunderer, Ned thought in annoyance. You’re supposed to be on our side, aren’t you? We need good weather to get where we need to be before the southrons know what we’re up to.

The Thunderer, of course, did what he wanted to do, not what Ned of the Forest wanted him to do. Lightning flashed. A few heartbeats later, thunder rumbled in the distance. Another lightning bolt crashed down. This time, the thunder came quicker and sounded louder and closer.

“They say you don’t ever want to hear thunder the same time as you see lightning,” Biffle remarked.

Ned nodded; he’d heard that, too. But… “Who are they ?” he asked. “The ones who lived?”

“I suppose so,” Colonel Biffle said. “I never really thought about that till now.” His chuckle was a little uneasy.

“You’ve always got to think about these things,” Ned said gravely. “The more you believe just because they say it’s so, the worse things will go wrong if they turn out to be a pack of fools-and, a lot of the time, they do. The only things you ought to take on faith are the gods.”

Biffle nodded. But then, with another chuckle, he asked, “Why even take them on faith?”

Ned scratched his head. He’d believed himself a freethinker, but doubting the power of the gods? That had never occurred to him. At last, laughing uncomfortably himself, he answered, “Don’t take ’em on faith if you don’t want to. The way they show themselves in the world, you don’t need to.”

“No, I suppose not,” Biffle agreed. Lightning flashed again. Through the boom that followed, the regimental commander added, “Pretty hard not to believe in the Thunderer when you hear that, isn’t it?”

“I should say so,” Ned replied.

It started raining harder. The drops drummed and hissed off the ground, off growing puddles, off the unicorns and men. Ned had to lower his head to keep the rain from soaking his face. He did some more muttering. His riders and the footsoldiers who made up the rest of General Bell’s army could keep going forward in such weather, but the supply wagons wouldn’t have an easy time. Neither would the catapults and the repeating crossbows that made charges across open country so expensive.

“Captain Watson!” Ned called, pitching his voice to carry through the rain. When he had to, he could make his voice carry through almost anything. “Come up here, Captain, if you please. I need to speak with you.”

“Coming, sir!” Watson called back. A moment later, his unicorn rode beside Ned of the Forest’s. Colonel Biffle drew off a little way, so as not to eavesdrop; he was polite as a cat. Saluting, Watson asked, “What can I do for you, sir?”

Ned eyed him with more than a little affection, which only showed how things could change. When Viscount Watson first joined his unicorn-riders, Ned had thought himself the victim of somebody’s bad joke. The alleged commander of engines had been a beardless nobleman of twenty, surely too young and too well-bred to know what he was doing or to be much use in the field. A couple of years of hard fighting had proved otherwise. Watson still couldn’t raise much more than fuzz on his cheeks and chin, but Ned no longer cared. He could handle catapults and repeating crossbows and the men who served them. Past that, nothing else mattered.

Now Ned could ask, “Will your toys be able to keep up with us?” and know he would be able to rely on the answer he got.

Captain Watson nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll make ’em keep up, by the gods. If I have to, I’ll unharness the asses hauling them and put unicorns in the traces instead. If that doesn’t do it, soldiers hauling on ropes will keep the carriages moving.”

“Good man,” Ned said. “That was what I wanted you to tell me.”

Grinning, Watson said, “You don’t ever want to hear no from anybody.”

“Not from anybody in my command,” Ned agreed. “Not from anybody I’m relying on.”

Watson nodded again. He already knew that. Nobody who served under Ned of the Forest could help knowing it. Ned would have been an impossible commander if he hadn’t driven himself harder than he drove any of his men. They knew how hard he worked at war, and did their best to match him.

Something up ahead, half seen through the curtain of rain… Ned leaned forward, peering hard. It had been a white something, which meant… “Was that a southron scout on unicornback there, sneaking off into the woods before we could get a good look at him?”

“I didn’t see him, sir,” Captain Watson answered. Colonel Biffle shrugged to show he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, either.

Wheep! Ned’s sword came free from its scabbard. “I’m going to have a look,” he said. “If that is a southron, I don’t aim to let him get back and tell his pals he’s seen us.” He spurred his unicorn forward.

Most commanders would have sent out scouts to hunt down an enemy. Ned didn’t think like that, and never had. He was as good a fighting man as any he led. He’d been wounded several times, and had close to a dozen unicorns killed under him. As he rode toward the woods now, he leaned forward and a little to one side, using this mount’s body as a shield in case that southron had a crossbow aimed at him.

Ned laughed softly. If the fellow did see him and tried shooting at him, he might not have much luck. In weather like this, bowstrings soon turned soggy and useless.