Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  Rick wasn’t surprised when neither Warner nor Elliot wanted to comment on that.

  “Another thing,” Rick said. “I need administration more than guns. Top, I want you to take the civilians and logistics and supplies back to Chelm and start organizing madweed cultivation.”

  Elliot frowned slightly. Doesn’t like being under Tylara’s direct command, Rick thought. Well, nothing I can do about that.

  “Sir.” Whatever misgivings Elliot felt they didn’t make it into his voice. “Do I take Rand?”

  “He’s one of the best scouts we have. I may need him here to deal with this. I’ll send him back to you as soon as I can, but I think I better keep him.”

  “Sir.” Elliot paused. “And Lady Siobhan?”

  “Oh God, I forgot she was coming with us!” Rick said. “To marry Major Mason. Only now I’ll need Mason here. Take her with you, Sergeant Major. She’ll be safer there than anywhere else, and it’s the best place for her to wait for Mason anyway. I’ll send Tylara a note so she’ll expect her.”

  “You might let Art Mason know she’s coming there,” Warner said. “Sir.”

  “Right. You do that. Now, Warner, a message to Drumold. Tell him what’s going on. Use his own judgment.”

  “He’s got no reason to come to the Ottarn,” Warner said. “Ganton’s writ doesn’t run in Tamaerthan, and I don’t think the little king’s going to get any volunteers, either. Took all you could do to get the clans to come up here the first time, and that was before his barons pissed them off. Again.”

  “I know. Let them know. It’s all we can do just now. When you get that drafted I’ll add a personal note to my father-in-law.”

  “What about Nikeis?” Warner asked.

  “Has to be put on hold. I’ll put together a message to Publius explaining the delay.”

  “Going to be hard on Harrison and Clavell,” Elliot said.

  “I know that. Not sure what I can do.”

  “Diplomatic note to the Doge in Nikeis,” Warner said. “We are greatly concerned that we haven’t heard from our men in quite some time, and beg that our ally find out for us if some ill has befallen them. All sugar and spice. That’s what I’d do, Colonel.”

  “Sounds good,” Elliot said. “Best to stay friends if we can. Let Publius put on the pressure. Least until we know more.”

  “Right,” Rick said. “Do that. And I’ve had a thought.”

  “Sir?” Warner asked.

  Rick looked around. Only Elliot and Warner were close.

  “Tylara may have a way to learn more about the situation.”

  “The mean little kids,” Elliot said. “Yes, Sir, that she may.”

  Tylara’s band of child assassins was a sore subject. For over a year Rick had feared they might be turned on him, and now that things were better between him and Tylara there was still the danger of discovery of the assassins and their victims. If word gets out, Rick thought to himself, we’re through. Fortunately, Tylara’s changed their mission to observation and protection. Right now intelligence is what I need.

  “I’ll write that request myself,” Rick said. “Okay, get those messages off. Elliot, sort out the farmers and civilians and escort them to Dravan. Except for your escort, everybody else comes north. Bisso will be senior sergeant with me. Warner, you’re my direct staff aide and adjutant. Better get foraging parties going out ahead of us. Forced marches, gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE OTTARN AGAIN

  Twenty days since the Battle of Ottarn River

  The Ottarn encampments were barren, but when Rick’s banners came into view, Wanaxxae messengers appeared as if from the ground itself. Rick recognized two royal pages. They were boys about twelve, expensively dressed sons of noblemen who’d wrangled themselves a place in the royal household. Both wore daggers, and one carried a short muzzle-loading rifled flintlock carbine slung over his back. The concept of the Minié ball was catching on throughout Dravan.

  And it will get to the Romans and the Five Kingdoms soon enough, Rick thought. Soon enough. How many years until my Tamaerthan archers no longer have an advantage? Or for that matter, our star weapons, when everyone has a rifled musket?

  “That’s got to be the Lord Speaker’s grandson,” Warner said. “That carbine cost a king’s ransom, Colonel. Literally, I’d say.”

  “Right. I’ll be polite.”

  The boys ran up, one waving maps.

  “Greetings, Warlord of Drantos,” he shouted. “In the name of the Wanax, you are most welcome.”

  Warner grinned at Rick.

  “Little better reception than you got the last time, Colonel. Ganton must have been worried. Would his message get to you, and more important, would you come? Heh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still, it must have galled him, having to ask you for help. And so soon.”

  Rick nodded.

  “And that’s what worries me. A lot.” He signaled for his aides to help him dismount. Days in the saddle, and I’ve got piles. McCleve had made an ointment of lanolin and some local herb that seemed to help a lot, but Rick wished again for an early meeting with the Shalnuksis. They were supposed to be bringing Preparation H.

  * * *

  Rick examined the maps with a scowl.

  “Okay, so we’re here, and the army got ambushed northwest of here, in these hills. The enemy’s presumably headed our way. Now where the hell is the king?”

  He faced a ring of blank looks.

  “Where did he tell you to go once you found me?” Rick demanded.

  “His Majesty required that we remain with you. His Majesty will send for us when we are again needed,” the page said. The boy seemed shaken and afraid.

  “Tell me about the battle, son.”

  “I know little, Warlord of Drantos. I rode with the Wanax, as is my duty. We were in what he called ‘standard order of march,’ which he had learned from you . . . ”

  Rick nodded. Point, scouts, advance guard, advance party, all mounted, with the king in the advance party. The main body of the army would be behind the king . . .

  “The scouts were ahead of us, out of sight over a hill. Suddenly there was shouting, and the sounds of guns. Not Great Guns like our cannon, nor like the muskets.” The boy waved his carbine. “Not like this. There was no smoke. It was like your weapons. I have heard the Wanax fire his Browning, and the sounds were like that. And very many.”

  “Many. How many?” Warner demanded.

  “Lord, I do not know. Too many to count. And after that, the scouts and the advanced guard came over the hill fleeing for their lives. The Wanax tried to rally them, but he could not, and soon the panic took even his guards. We rode for our lives.”

  “Pursuit?” Warner asked. “Anyone chasing you?”

  “None I saw, lord.”

  “And you never saw the enemy?”

  “Men fell from their saddles two stadia from the enemy. There was nothing to see.”

  “Shee-it,” Warner said. “That’s good shooting.”

  Rick nodded. Two stadia was over five hundred meters. Against moving targets.

  “So what then?” he asked the page.

  “We fled until our horses were tired,” the boy said. “Then we paused, realizing that none pursued. The Wanax said he must rally the men, without an army he was Wanax no more. Then the Wanax gave me messages, for you and for the semaphore tower. He ordered me to deliver the messages to the semaphore, then come here and wait, for you or for him. I have done so.”

  “Good lad,” Rick said. “And how long ago was that?”

  “Lord, there have been thirteen nights since that day.”

  “Thirteen days. Hell, they could be anywhere,” Warner mused, and Rick nodded.

  “And you heard nothing more about the Wanax?”

  “Nay, Lord, I heard more. You asked if I had seen him. I have not.”

  “Okay, what did you hear? And who from?”

  “Lord Murphy came here yesterday,” the page
said.

  “Murphy! Where is he?”

  “He said he would not be far, and you should wait for him,” the boy said.

  “Holy shit,” Bisso said.

  * * *

  Murphy rode in at dusk. The horses were lean and thin, and the men gaunt. “Looks like they’ve done some hard riding,” Warner observed.

  Rick nodded. Living off the land was never easy, and Murphy’s job was to make it harder, burn crops and fields, and always keep moving. It was a job for Westmen, and Rick noted Mad Bear, formerly an enemy, now blood brother to Murphy, seemed to be second-in-command. Hal Roscoe and the other merc whose name Rick couldn’t remember were back with the other troops. Three more troops with star weapons, plus Mad Bear’s Horse People and Murphy’s feudal tenants. There was also a company-sized unit of mounted archers. Useful.

  The mounted archers seemed in better shape than Murphy’s troops. The rest of Murphy’s forces looked more like their renegade Westmen allies than a civilized military force. Thin and hard worn . . . Except for the centaurs, Rick thought. More for them to eat? Makes sense, they eat stuff horses and people can’t. But whatever the reason they sure look in better shape than most of the horses. We won’t get much service out of those mounts until they’ve had a season to recuperate and fatten up.

  “Good to see you, Colonel,” Murphy said. He gestured, and two young riders rushed up to hold his horse as he dismounted.

  Rick nodded to himself. Murphy was a lord of Drantos in his own right, a feudal landholder and guardian to an important ward, as well as a sergeant, brevet to officer, in Rick’s mercenary force. Other troops watched Murphy’s status carefully. Some resented him, others were envious. All saw in Murphy a clue to their own future.

  Which means I need to be careful with him.

  “Good to see you, My Lord. You’ve had considerable success. And my thanks for the gifts.”

  “Was it Akkilas? Sir,” Murphy asked.

  “We don’t know,” Rick said. “It may have been.”

  “Anyway, we got a bigger problem now.”

  “Yeah. Come have some coffee and tell me about it.”

  “Coffee. Yeah,” Murphy said. “Looking forward to that. Soon as I see to my men. Where do we camp, Colonel?”

  * * *

  Murphy sipped coffee and looked up with a grin.

  “Now that’s what I miss not being a regular with the outfit, Colonel.”

  Rick considered the implications of that remark, and that Murphy would lead off by making it. Then he shrugged slightly.

  “We don’t have much, My Lord. And now, Lieutenant Murphy, would you care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “As best I can. Sir,” Murphy said. “We drove into the north, and then started working our way southeast. Towards the Ottarn, where we expected the Wanax. You saw the condition of the horses. Without remounts there wasn’t a lot else to do. So we were moving southeast, burning crops and harrying supply parties, when we ran into that group under Akkilas. Or whoever it was. We caught them by surprise, got lucky and killed most of them, including their leader. Someone told me that was Akkilas himself. It looked like maybe the war was over, what with the heir dead and all. So I sent the head and shield to you and started working my way back home. It was slow going, ’cause we’d burned out most anything useful. We’d been at that awhile when there comes a Black Rod Usher.”

  Rick could hear the capital letters in Murphy’s voice.

  “A gentleman usher of the Black Rod,” Murphy repeated. “He had a summons for me. Two, actually. One a summons to a Great Council meeting at the Ottarn battlefield. I read it over, and it looked like the meeting was already over, probably over before the summons was sent, but by God, Colonel, it was a real royal warrant summoning me to a meeting of the peers of the realm!”

  “Hmm,” Rick said.

  “Yes Sir, hmmm,” Murphy said. “So the Black Rod asks, ‘Do you accept the summons?’ and I point out the meeting is over, and he asks it again, real formal like. ‘Lord Murphy Bheroman of Kalstra, do you accept the summons?’ he says, so what could I do? I said yes.”

  “Murph, that pretty well ends any questions about your nobility,” Warner mused.

  “That’s the way I took it, Mr. Warner,” Murphy said. “And then he took out the second summons. That ordered me to attend the Wanax in person and named a rendezvous point well on the way to Aachilos. It also said I was to tell no one. Emphatic about that point. Tell no one.” Murphy grimaced. “So I headed north again.”

  “So, Murph,” Bisso demanded, “what the hell were you doing taking orders from the Wanax?”

  “He had to,” Warner said. “Once he accepted that summons, he’s part of the peerage. It would be treason not to attend the Wanax in person to swear fealty. And you notice that Black Rod character got Murphy to accept before he pulled the second rabbit out of his hat.”

  “That’s about the size of it, Mr. Warner,” Murphy said. “Colonel—Warlord—My Lord—just what the hell do I call you now?”

  “Colonel will do,” Rick said. “So now that you’ve told us your new status, what the hell happened? Where is the King?”

  “I found the main body of the Fiver army and skirted around that until I got here, and a messenger took me to the Wanax. He’s about a day’s ride northwest trying to rally the army, or at least round up enough units that it can look like an army,” Murphy said. “Day’s ride for his people. Four hours for mine.”

  “Maybe you better start at the beginning.”

  “I wasn’t there for the beginning, Colonel. I was on the way to meet His Majesty in answer to that Black Rod summons when I ran into some mounted archers. Ours. I have them with me. They were trying to get home to Chelm, but they only had a general idea of which way that was. They’d been conscripted by the Wanax for this expedition into the Five Kingdoms. Hadn’t liked it much, being turned over to somebody else. They consider themselves part of your household troops, yours and Lady Tylara’s, and neither one of you was along. So they were probably pretty ready to run anyway, when they ran into an ambush.”

  “Ambush,” Rick asked with growing interest. “By how many?”

  “Don’t know, Colonel,” Murphy said. “Not many, or a lot, depending on who tells it. You can talk to them yourself, but I doubt you’ll get more than I did. They were riding along, scouting ahead of the army, when they came under fire from what I’d figure was fifty rifles.”

  “Fifty rifles!” Warner exclaimed.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Bisso said. “Skipper, that’s more’n we have ’less you include the musketeers. Murph, you said rifles, right? Not muskets? Real rifles?”

  “Real rifles, Sergeant. Modern firearms. Smokeless ammunition. Not automatic, or anyway they don’t fire on automatic. Belgian FNs I’d guess, from the sound and what I could see when I went scouting.” He fingered his binoculars. “And whoever the hell they are, they can shoot! Colonel, this was more’n a week ago, and since then I’ve been trying to get a handle on who we’re up against, and I don’t have any better idea than I did when we started! I can’t get close to them, nobody can get close to them. Hell, Colonel, these guys have got Mad Bear and his Westmen scared!”

  “Okay, Murphy,” Rick said. “But you must know something more about what we’re up against.”

  “Yes, Sir, it’s a whole damn army. The main body’s typical Five Kingdom, maybe two thousand lances. The leader’s some guy in wolf skins.”

  “The Honorable Matthias, Priest of Vothan,” Rick said. “The High Rexja’s Marshal. At a guess, anyway. So you had no trouble getting close to them.” Two thousand lances would be about six thousand men, about as large an army as anyone could field given the logistics.

  “No Sir, it’s just an army of ironheads. They’ve got some light cavalry scouts, and shortbow camp guard infantry, nothing special. It’s their advance party that’s killing us.”

  “Tell us,” Rick prompted.

  “There’s a body of horsemen, medi
um cavalry, mostly. Couple hundred. They’re escorting thirty wagons and a bunch of infantry marching in column. Between fifty and a hundred infantry, all carrying rifles, FNs probably. Look like FNs, but they could be Rhodesian R-1s. That shape, anyway. Pretty distinctive.”

  Rick nodded.

  “About half of them have green jungle cammies and green berets. The rest have khakis, wide-brimmed hats. I think I spotted a couple of officers, khakis and hats. And damn it all, Colonel, that’s all I know! It’s all I can see at extreme range with binoculars, and you can’t get closer to them. Soon as you get anywhere near, they deploy to a prone position and start shooting, and holy shit! They can shoot like—well, like MacAllister, only this is every damn one of them. In that first ambush they killed maybe two hundred men in a couple of minutes. That spooked the rest.”

  “Might spook anyone,” Warner said.

  “Hell, they’re just mercs,” Bisso said. “We want to know more, sneak in at night and look.”

  “Tried. Lost three men. Best poachers I had, never got a word back,” Murphy said.

  “Hmm.” Bisso looked thoughtful. “That good, eh?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, that good,” Murphy said.

  “So whoever they are, what are they doing?” Rick demanded.

  “Colonel, as near as I can tell, they’re systematically finishing off every pocket of Ganton’s army left in the Five Kingdoms. They’re working their way southeast, and they’re bringing in supplies in big supply trains, too damn big for me to attack with what I’ve got. They send out these light cavalry parties and any time they run into resistance they march up this infantry force, and that’s all she wrote. And I have to say, I’m spooked, Colonel. I’m afraid to go after their supply trains. What if there are more of those mercs? If there’s a hundred in their forward body, who’s to say there’s not fifty more hidden in one of those supply trains?”

  “So the upshot is that a Five Kingdoms army is taking a cakewalk to the Ottarn,” Rick said. “And what’s to stop them from going on to Armagh and Edron?”