by John Ringo
“Did Trooper McIerran actually have information about this?” Edmund asked.
“Well, he’s not talking very well,” Kane admitted. “But he indicated that, no, it was a shot in the dark. I’ve… heard the rumors too.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Herzer has become popular in the community. He’s well known to some of the major members of the community and his actions at the roundup are already legendary. Including his… somewhat intense heroism. That has caused a degree of envy. Some of the sequence of events are known about your… attack, doctor. Not this sequence but that Herzer was there even before anyone else.”
“Rachel,” Daneh said, pursing her lips.
“Probably, but not generally,” Kane corrected. “Rachel to some friend to another friend all getting mixed into rumor. A nice juicy rumor to pull down somebody who just comes across as too Simon Pure to be true. A rumor which, unfortunately, now appears to be true.”
“Gunny, effects on the Blood Lords,” Edmund said with a sigh.
“Bad. Herzer’s one of their natural leaders. They’re not sure how to handle him now. Being a hero is what they’re all about. ‘Fight until you die and drop.’ He ran. He’s a coward in their eyes. They’re very black and white about that. On the other hand, he’s one of them. More now that he’s not triari. They’re rallying around him, but you can tell they’re uneasy about doing it. We’ve had two more fights in the last two days.”
“What’s your take?” Edmund asked. “Where are you, Miles?”
Gunny thought about it for a moment then shook his head. “How many, Doctor?”
“Eight,” she said neutrally.
“Armed?”
“One with a bow, McCanoc with a sword and a couple of other daggers.”
“Maybe, maybe I could have fought my way out of that,” Gunny said. “And kept you alive and unraped doing it. Herzer, no way. Not then. Probably not now. One day, sure even against McCanoc. He made the tactical decision to retreat and leave you behind. Sometimes, you have to cut your losses. When he came back, he was armed, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said, softly, kneading her stomach.
“He was probably dreading coming back and finding you with your throat cut. If he has nightmares, that is probably them. And if he had, I don’t think he’d be alive now, but most of them would be dead as well. He doesn’t have an ounce of quit in him. He’ll do. I can handle the Blood Lords. I’m not to sure how he’s going to take it, though.”
“He’s liable to kill himself being the hero, is the answer,” Edmund replied, gritting his teeth until the rest could hear them squeak.
“Edmund, forgive him,” Daneh ordered sharply.
“I will,” Edmund replied. “Just do me the favor to give me a little time. All right?”
“All right,” she said, unhappily.
“People will be down on him, though,” Edmund said. “That’s natural. I’d watched people build him up even when he didn’t mean it to happen. Now they’re going to drag him down.”
“I’ll work on that,” Daneh said determinedly. “I’ll bring it up in the next session. And the Ladies will let it Be Known that coming down on Herzer doesn’t work.”
“Rachel,” Edmund said.
“Family,” Daneh said, nodding at the others.
“Okay, if that’s it…”
“Not… quite,” Kane said unhappily. “You know how you wanted me to send a patrol down valley?”
“Yes?” Edmund said. There had been a report from a pack trader that a “large force” was seen moving north near Rowana. The target could be either Raven’s Mill or Washan. The patrol had been sent out to see if it was Washan and another was due to head down the valley to see what was happening there.
“Well, my ‘patrol’ is in the hospital. The rest of the riders are out patrolling south of Resan. I’ve only got three left hale, and myself. I’d rather be here for when the others get back. And I don’t want to send three out by themselves. Besides, they’re all… pretty inexperienced.”
“Shit,” Edmund said, shaking his head. He thought about it a moment longer then cursed. “Ah, hell.”
“Yeah,” Kane replied. “You just got to the part I got to a while ago.”
“Herzer,” Gunny grunted.
“He can stay on a horse better than most of my riders,” Kane said. “Way better than the three I’ve got left. I mean, it’s him, me or Edmund.”
“I can ride,” Gunny said. “I can even fight on horseback.”
“No,” Edmund said. “For the same reason Kane and I can’t go. That pack trader said there were a bunch of them and he thought it was only part of the force. If this is the force that hit Resan, I don’t want either of you off on a patrol, much less cut down on one.”
“And you’re thinking of sending Herzer?” Daneh asked.
“He’s disposable,” Edmund said brutally. “At least, more so than any of the three of us, or you for example.”
“So you’re thinking of sending him out on patrol with three cavalrymen when he’s just put the rest of their squad in the hospital?” she asked. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Well, they won’t give him any guff,” Kane snorted. “Not to his face.”
“Herzer’s…” Daneh stopped and shook her head. “He’s… more vulnerable to stuff behind his back than to his face. And how do you know one of them won’t slip a knife in his ribs when he’s asleep?”
“Oh, come on, Daneh,” Kane said angrily. “They’re not that mad. They’re more contemptuous than mad. Getting him out of town is a benefit for that matter. It will let things settle down, give people something else to gossip about.”
“How long?” Edmund asked.
“Two weeks,” Kane replied. “Straight down the west valley then back up the east. Spare horse with fodder apiece.”
“Do it,” Talbot said.
“Edmund!”
“This discussion is over,” he replied, coldly.
“I’ll inform him,” Gunny said, getting up. “Edmund, Kane, Mistress Ghorbani,” he nodded then left the room followed by Kane.
“This discussion is not over,” Daneh said, standing up and sweeping up her skirts.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Edmund sighed, picking up his glasses and turning back to his paperwork.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The “get his ass out of town” patrol, as Herzer thought of it, had not been a rousing success but at least it was nearly over. The three cavalrymen had not traded any more words with him than were necessary for the business of the patrol, but that was fine by him. He was in no mood to talk anyway, and the only subject that would come up he really didn’t want to talk about. They had just done their job, riding in the long circuit down the west side of Massan Mountain then back up the east, finding nothing but birds and beasts of the field. Supposedly there was a large force out here somewhere, but if so they had seen no sign of it. One time they ran across signs of an encampment but the trail had disappeared when whoever used it had broken up. That had been on the southwest side of Massan Mountain and they had ridden carefully for a day but after seeing no more sign they had slipped back into simply riding.
The valley had started to slip into early fall and the nights were turning cool with the trees on the upper ridges already starting to change color. Down in the valley, though, it was still hot during the day and as they rode up the valley the air was slow and still.
Herzer took off his helmet and wiped his face, looking up at the sun to judge the time. If they rode hard and didn’t stop for an afternoon break they could probably make it back to town that day, if late. The horses were doing fine; they had found plenty of forage on the patrol and they had hardly had to touch the grain they had carried with them except for a cup of it in the evenings to keep them happy. They were in good enough condition to make the town, tired but more than capable. He was pretty sure the cavalrymen were of the same mind but it didn’t hurt to check. He turned to ask one of them what they thought
of it when a mourning dove flew up out of the trees to the side of the trail and he suddenly dug his heals into Diablo.
“Ambush!” he yelled, spurring the horse hard as the air suddenly filled with arrows. They made an evil hiss in the air as they went overhead. He heard a scream from behind and him and looked back to see one of the cavalrymen swaying in his saddle with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.
“Back to town,” he yelled, then was yanked sideways as his pack horse went down with an arrow in its side.
“Loose the horses!” he said, cursing himself for not thinking of that himself. As he did so with his mount, and the other three charged past, he saw a group of six horsemen coming out of the woods on their tail.
“Keep moving!” he screamed. “One of us has to get back to town!”
He looked back and shook his head in resignation. The horses behind him were some breed that he didn’t recognize but they were fast, as fast as Diablo when he was fresh. And their riders were in light armor whereas he was in his full Blood Lord plate. The cavalrymen were well clear, as long as there wasn’t another ambush set up ahead of them. But he was lagging behind and the pursuers were catching up.
“Hi, Diablo! Run boy, run for your life,” Herzer called. And mine, he added mentally.
This was an ignominious way to die, he thought. He had figured he’d die in battle, in the front lines, defending Raven’s Mill. But, this was close. He was in front of the front lines. Chuckling, he spurred the flagging horse again as it ascended the Bellevue grade into a narrow defile. As he did he heard another yell from ahead of him and then a whole series of shouts.
As he crested the hill he saw one of the cavalrymen down and the other two fighting a group on the ground. Wishing he had a lance, Herzer drew his sword and charged into the group, slamming into one of them with Diablo and slashing downwards at another. He’d left his Blood Lord shield and sword behind, picking up a conventional kite shield and longsword from Baron Edmund before he left. He was glad he had; a short sword would be useless in this encounter as was his Blood Lord training. He’d have to depend on what he remembered of longsword work.
He reined the horse to a stop and looked at the narrow defile in which the skirmish was taking place. Well enough.
He pulled his shield off the side of the horse and hit it on the rump with the flat of his sword. “HI DIABLO,” he called, “run for home!” With that he charged the group of infantry slashing from side to side. One of the group swung an axe at him but he blocked it with his shield without thinking and then slammed the steel boss into his opponent as he slashed another across the face.
“RUN YOU FOOLS!” he yelled as one of the remaining cavalrymen turned back to his aid. “Get to the town! That’s an order!” He swung at another of the group, then backed up so that his back was to the wall of the cut. It was probably an old road-cut from the Norau days and it would do. If he could finish these three off he was well enough placed to face the cavalry. If.
Two had spears, one of which had apparently finished off the injured cavalryman since it was red-stained with blood, and the third had another crudely made axe. One of the spearmen charged him and Herzer caught the spear on the side of his shield and then cut at the shaft as if this were another drill. To his surprise the shaft snapped and he lunged forward to spit the spearman on his sword.
It was the first time that he had killed a man in earnest and intent and the man staggered backwards wailing as if in grief with blood pouring out of the wound and bits of intestine showing in the hole. He had black hair and a beard that was shot through with gray. His mouth was open in the beard and as Herzer watched he seemed to realize that his life was done. He opened and shut his mouth then slumped to the ground.
For a moment Herzer was shaken in hesitation but as the axeman swung he snapped back into drill, blocking the blow with his shield, then jumping forward in a bash at the axeman as the second spearman, the one with the blood of the cavalryman on his spear, tried to spit him from the side.
The point of the spear glanced off the plates of the armor but slipped up into the articulation on his side, barely piercing the cloth underneath.
Herzer grunted at the blow but slashed downward again, cutting the shaft off just below the spearhead. He then jumped back at the axeman who was still muzzy from the shield bash and finished him off with a slash across the throat. That left only the spearman who turned away to run.
Herzer picked up the axe and weighed it in his hand, then shrugged and as carefully as possible hurled it at the spearman. More by luck than training the weapon caught him between the shoulder blades and dropped him writhing in the dust.
Which would have been the end of it if the six cavalrymen hadn’t crested the rise at almost the same moment.
Herzer sighed, tiredly, and took up a stance. This was just another drill. The cavalrymen didn’t have lances, just swords. They would try to ride him down or cut him with the swords. He was heavily armored to a downward strike so the technique was to step to the left of one of the charging horses and slash it across the side, taking the blow of the sword on his armor and helmet.
The problem in this case was the six were crowding each other to get to him and there wasn’t so much as a decimeter between them. For that matter the horses were either very well or very badly trained because instead of avoiding the injured spearman they pounded him into the ground. Which, Herzer figured, was what was just about to happen to him.
As they approached, therefore, he ran to the side of the defile and actually up onto the side, using the force of his run to lift himself into the air and up over the shoulder of the startled horse on the farthest left.
He didn’t try anything fancy like staying on the horse or slashing at anything, he simply let a hundred plus kilos of body and another twenty of armor smash into the rider.
He couldn’t tell if the rider was dead on the way down nor did he really care. But if he wasn’t he assuredly was when Herzer landed on top of him and used the rider’s body to break his own fall.
The landing, just about flat out on his face, still drove the air out of his lungs, and his helmet slammed face down quite painfully. But he stumbled to his feet, making sure of the enemy by lifting himself up on his swordpoint, which went through the cavalryman’s chest and out the other side.
He got to his feet and took a deep breath, swishing the sword through the air and shaking his head at the last five riders. “Come on you bastards!” he called. “It’s a long damned walk to town, I’ve got a headache and it’s going to get dark soon! I want to be drinking ale before midnight.”
The horsemen gathered together to charge forward again but one of them held up his hand and reached down to open up the bow case at his knee.
Herzer went cold as the composite bow came out and the horseman reached down to flick out an arrow. The bow would go right through his armor and might just go through armor and shield. Furthermore, the bastard could keep out of range even if he charged.
It still was the only choice and he raised his shield up before his eyes and started running. “HOW MANY OF THEM CAN WE MAKE DIE!”
The other horsemen closed on him, hacking downward, but he was straitly concentrated on the bowman who was trying to settle his horse. At this range it was a clap shot and Herzer was looking right at the arrow pointed at his visor when there was a twang of a bowstring.
And the rider tumbled sideways out of his saddle.
The arrow went he knew not where and he turned to the side slashing at one of the other mounts as there was a rapid “Thwang, thwang, thwang” and the remaining riders tumbled to the ground, arrows in chest, neck, and eye.
He looked up at the rise above the defile as a light clad archer dropped to the ground and smiled at him naughtily.
“Hi there, lover boy,” Bast said, hand on one outshot hip. “Sorry to ruin your fun, but I wasn’t willing to break in a new boy-toy.”
* * *
Herzer and Bast met Kane and a group of
militia a kilometer short of the town border. The two were holding hands, Herzer riding a sorely lame and chagrined Diablo and Bast riding a bay Arab that had been one of the pack horses. They were trailing a string of horses, some of which had dead bodies thrown over their backs.
“I heard you were dead,” Kane said with a grin.
“Not hardly,” Herzer grinned back then sobered. “Barsten didn’t make it, though. He’s over his horse.”
“Yeah,” Kane said. “How many?”
“Six in the second ambush and six riders. I don’t know how many in the first ambush, though. Lots. Bast saw more.”
“As he said, lots,” Bast said. “The rest I think should be shared with Edmund.”
“Well, he will want to see you. I’ll take the horses.”
“Don’t wait here, we don’t know what’s coming,” Herzer said, looking up at the last of the light. “I doubt that it’s going to come tonight, though.”
“I’ll follow you back, but you’d better hurry ahead,” Kane said. “Move it, Triari.”
“I lost that slot,” Herzer said with a grimace.
“I don’t think you’ll be worrying about it for long,” Kane said with an ambiguous expression.
Soon Diablo was up to a canter and Herzer didn’t want to push him more than that. When they approached the town he could see torches moving into the stockaded area and somewhere a bell was ringing.
“I see the rest of the scouts made it back,” Herzer said.
“Yes,” Bast said, shaking her head. “And now the sheep huddle behind the walls of the paddock in fear of the wolves.”
“These sheep have teeth,” Herzer said as they cantered up to the gate. “And sheep dogs. Ho, Cruz, open the hell up. I’ve got the mother’s own saddle sores and I want to get off this beast.”
“HERZER!” Cruz yelled, jumping down off the stockade wall and shouting for help to open the gates.
As Herzer walked the horses through the gates he heard other people calling his name and suddenly the whole triari was gathered around him, crowding closely enough to make Diablo nervous.