The Silver Crown

by Joel Rosenberg

  In another tactical situation the right response would be different, but here the commander knew he was already up against the keep's defenders, and had arrayed his forces for a siege; the conservative response, the safe reaction, would be to withdraw his entire force along the Prince's Road toward Holtun and barony Adahan, probably sending a cavalry detachment through to make sure that the way was clear.

  His command should be more important to him than his mission. If he was good enough.

  Karl stepped out through the trees and into the starlight. While the cavalrymen mounted up, a large contingent of Holtish soldiers were setting up a quick line defense, bringing guns and bows around to face Aveneer's slowly advancing sections.

  "First section, fire!" Aveneer called out.

  Karl crossed his fingers. It didn't look good; the Holts were setting up for defense, not withdrawal.

  "You've got guts," he whispered to his unseen adversary. "Too damn much guts." Hadn't the bastard decided that he was outnumbered? Was he about to try a last run, himself?

  Erek ran up, one of Aveneer's younger warriors beside him.

  "He says," Erek said, panting, " 'Understood; firing by your order. Casualties low: seven wounded, none dead.' " Erek shook his head. "I don't think he's seen everything, Karl. Some of those horsemen broke through the line."

  Easily a mile away, two more signal rockets momentarily brightened the night, as if to say, We're on our way.

  Karl let himself ignore the report on casualties for the time being. I'll worry about it later, when I know how many lives my being clever cost this time. "It looks like Tennetty and the rest of the horseborne squad got to their signal rockets," he said. "And made it into position."

  "Yes, Karl." The boy smiled. "Will the Holts run?"

  "Count on it," he said.

  I hope so, his thought echoed. Okay, General Patton. How about now?

  "Second section, fire!"

  That started a rout. The small detachment camped opposite the gateless northern wall broke and ran, some soldiers fighting each other for possession of a horse, others dropping their weapons and running down the road.

  Karl couldn't see the other small detachment, but he was willing to bet that they'd be the next to break.

  The group camped opposite the keep's rear gate began to move out, but in an orderly fashion: foot soldiers double-timing toward the road, cavalrymen with crossbows riding ahead to clear the way. Apparently their commander had decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

  Good. But the main force wasn't moving, and with the one remaining small force, those almost three hundred men were enough to hold off Karl's people indefinitely, unless Karl was willing to shed a lot of Aveneer's men's blood.

  "Erek—message to Valeran, return. Begins: Do it. Ends."

  Again, the boy dashed off, this time in a different direction.

  This was the last trick Karl had up his sleeve. If it didn't work, things were going to get very messy. If the hundred men now under Valeran's command weren't enough to persuade the Holtish commander that there was a huge force opposing him, Karl would have to count on Slovotsky's being able to get more than his note through to Furnael, on Furnael's believing him, and on Furnael's being able to take effective action.

  All of which wasn't too likely, not in combination.

  Well off on the right flank, Valeran's group stepped out of the forest, firing in volley.

  But the Holts held, firing and reloading their guns and bows.

  And then it happened: The main gate to the keep began to creak open, accompanied by battle cries from within the keep's walls.

  The Holts had had enough; their line broke.

  Karl beckoned at Aveneer's runner. "To Aveneer, and return. Begins: Belay volley fire. All reload, advance. Targets only by eye and ear. Ends. Go." The runner ran off.

  At a brightening on the horizon, Karl's head jerked around. A gout of flame scoured the eastern sky.

  Flame? What the hell was going on?

  *What . . . think . . . on?*

  "Ellegon!"

  He could barely hear the mental voice as the dragon roared across the sky, well above the range of the most powerful crossbows as he vented fire and steam, hastening the Holts in their headlong flight.

  *The air cavalry is here. I see I'm a bit late. Hope I didn't inconvenience you too much.*

  No, not at all. It gave me the chance to figure out how about two hundred and fifty could send four times that number running, Karl thought, letting his mental voice drip with sarcasm. Thanks for the experience, Ellegon.

  *No problem.*

  Karl felt the dragon probe more deeply.

  *I'm sorry about Chak. We'll have to talk about him.*

  Later. Business first. "Erek, get over here—move it, boy. Message for Aveneer, return. Begins: Belay attack. Nobody takes a step forward of your first section until further orders."

  With the Holts on the run, and with Ellegon in the skies to make sure they kept running, there was no reason to take any chance on getting someone killed by friendly fire. Furnael's people had been under siege for a while; it was likely that they were more than a little trigger-happy. "Healing draughts to be dispensed as needed," he went on. "Ends. Message for Valeran. Begins: Acquire three prisoners for interrogation. Keep your distance from Biemish until further orders. Ends. Go."

  His neck muscles were already starting to unkink. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders; Ellegon's presence in his mind buoyed him like a lifejacket.

  Lightning crackled from the dragon's back, the white ribbons descending into the midst of the fleeing Holts, now more mob than army.

  Lightning? Ellegon must have picked up Henrad and—no, not lightning. Henrad wasn't up to anything that difficult.

  Ellegon, tell me Andrea isn't with you.

  There was no answer.

  Please.

  *It was her idea, Karl, not mine. The same for Ahira. I told them you wouldn't like it,* he said petulantly.

  Ahira? What the hell is going on at Home? Are the children—

  *The children are fine. Kirah and all of them are staying with the Engineers for the time being.* Ellegon banked, wheeling across the sky. *Let me bring her to you—*

  "No!" Stay the hell up in the sky until everything settles down.

  He would have to talk to Furnael, and—

  No, better—tell Aveneer to move one of his companies back to the campsite, and then you can land there. First things first. He had intended to go down and talk to the baron, but this had to take priority. Can you reach Slovotsky?

  *Yes.*

  Tell him I'll be a while. Then get your scaly self over to the LZ, on the double.

  *Yes, Karl. It's good to see you again, too.*

  Despite everything, he smiled. "Right. . . . Hey, you—yes, you. Get me my horse."

  Chapter Twenty

  Several Acquaintances Renewed

  Only the brave know how to forgive. . . .

  —Laurence Sterne

  Karl pulled the stallion to a halt, then swung his leg over and lowered himself slowly to the ground. He reached up and tied Stick's reins around a branch of a tree; unlike Carrot, Stick wouldn't stay ground-hitched, although the horse usually respected a light hitching.

  *Are you sure enough of that that if your horse tries to run, I can eat it?*

  Ellegon sprawled on the grass, his massive saurian head cradled on his crossed forelegs.

  No. And why is it that you always want to snack on my horses?

  *Everyone always says that when it comes to horseflesh, you've got great taste.*

  Apparently, the dragon had included Andy-Andy in on the conversation. She groaned as she stooped to pick up a fist-sized stone and bounced it off his thick hide, before turning back to her work.

  Ahira and Thomen Furnael sat on the grass, resting against one of the dragon's treetrunk forelegs, while Andy-Andy and Ranella directed ten of Aveneer's warriors in the unpacking of the
dragon's harnesses and the huge wicker basket.

  "Leave that keg alone," Ranella said, indicating a small one that was tied tightly into a padded nook of the basket. "Do not try to move it, do not drop anything on it, do not even look cross-eyed at it."

  "Okay, what the hell's going on?" Karl said, glaring at Ahira and Andy-Andy. "I sent for—"

  "Shh." Andy-Andy smiled as she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss. "Mendicants can't be choosicants. Hey, you—easy with that box." She pushed away from him and walked over to where Ranella was directing the unloading.

  "Help is what you sent for, and you got it," the dwarf snapped. "As I remember it, nobody elected you God, Karl."

  "Just what are you doing here, Mr. Mayor?"

  "Call me Ahira." The dwarf shrugged. "I'm not mayor anymore. I lost a vote of confidence four tendays ago. Which is why I'm here—"

  It hit Karl like a slap. "You what?"

  "I lost. Chton called another vote of confidence, and a lot of the farmers who would have voted the way you wanted them to didn't vote for me." He shrugged again.

  "You left Home with Chton as mayor? You—"

  "Do I look stupid? I didn't have enough votes to hold on to the job, but the Joiners couldn't get enough support to win a clear majority, either."

  "So who—"

  "Riccetti, of course."

  "Now, wait a minute. How did you get him past Chton's faction?"

  Ahira turned to look at Andy-Andy. "Should I tell him? Or did you really want to try that experiment?"

  "Experiment?"

  She ignored him for a moment, talking quietly to Ranella. "You can handle the rest of it, yes?"

  "Yes, Andrea."

  Andy-Andy turned and walked over to Karl. "The experiment is to see if someone can actually die of curiosity."

  Enough. How safe are we?

  *Not an unfriendly thought as far as my mind can reach. Why?—oh.* The dragon snorted, parboiling a stretch of grass.

  "Ahira, I don't want anybody going down toward Furnael Keep until the mopping-up is done. When that happens, you can take Thomen to his father, but not until then."

  The boy spoke up. "But, Karl Cullinane, this is my home. I know—"

  "You may know every rock, tree, and bramble, boy, but we're on the fringes of a war. I'm not going to have to tell your father that I got his other son killed, understood?" He turned back to Ahira and switched to English. "Slovotsky is down there; coordinate things through him. Keep the kid alive, kapish?"

  "Yes, Karl." The dwarf hefted his battleaxe. "It's good to be back in business."

  Karl snorted. "A hell of a lot you remember." He walked over to the carrying basket and pulled out three blankets, throwing them over his shoulder. Without a word, he scooped up Andy-Andy in his arms.

  If I remember right, there's a tiny clearing about a quarter mile this way. Tune us out, and make sure we're left alone.

  *Yes, Karl. Have fun.*

  "Karl!" She struggled against his grip. "What do you think you're doing—"

  "It's pretty damn obvious what I'm doing, Andrea. The question is, do you intend to stop me?"

  "And if I do?"

  He shrugged. "Then you will."

  "That's fine, then." She leaned her head against his chest. "Just so I have a choice. I missed you too, you know."

  "Don't tell me, show me."

  * * *

  Andy-Andy peered over his shoulder. "We're out of sight, Karl. You can put me down now," she said. Her voice was flat, businesslike.

  He lowered her legs to the ground, then released her. "You didn't buy the act?"

  She shook her head. "I know you too well. That pseudo-macho act probably fooled everyone except maybe Ahira. I still don't know why you bother with it, though."

  "Got to keep up the image, beautiful." He sighed. Getting the job done depended on whether others would follow him, and that depended in large part on his image. There was another side to it, too: Sending his friends out to die was bad enough; public breastbeating wouldn't make it one whit better. But this wasn't public.

  He swallowed. "Let me give it to you straight: Chak was killed outside of Enkiar."

  A brief intake of breath, and then: "How?"

  He shook his head. "He . . . decided that stopping the slaver powder from getting through was more important than his own life." He pounded his fist against a tree, sending chips of bark flying away. "The little bastard . . ."

  He dropped to his knees. As she crouched beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck, he closed his eyes, buried his face against her breasts, and finally let the tears flow.

  * * *

  After a while, she reached into her robes and rummaged through an inside pocket for a cloth, then handed it to him. "Better wipe your nose, and give your eyes a chance to clear up, hero," she said, her voice infinitely gentle, despite her words. "You'll blow your image to hell otherwise."

  "Thanks." He forced a calm tone. "Now, tell me: What the hell is going on back Home? Did Ahira blow the vote, or was Chton too good for him?"

  She shook her head. "I think he blew it, maybe even deliberately. Gwellin's finally decided to go back to Endell—" She raised an eyebrow. "That isn't a surprise to you?"

  "No," Karl said. "He mentioned it a while back."

  "In any case, he invited Ahira to go along with him. Ahira said no, but . . . after that, it seemed like he was . . . deliberately going out of his way to annoy people. You remember the dispute between Lou and Keremin?"

  "Something about some farmland?"

  "Right. Keremin was in the wrong, but it's an honest disagreement. When Ahira manhandled him—in front of a dozen farmers, Karl—and told him to stop trying to steal the fields . . ." She shook her head. "He earned himself another enemy. And then he insisted on working out with Daven. Ahira beat him badly in front of his own men."

  Was it conscious or not? Had the dwarf deliberately been trying to get himself thrown out of office, or had it been an unconscious unwillingness to hold on to the responsibility?

  He didn't ask. If anyone would know, Ellegon would—best to save it for later.

  "I tried to smooth it over," she went on, "but I didn't get far. When the town meeting came up, Ahira just didn't have the votes, not without you there to back him up."

  "So how did you get enough of the Joiners to agree to Riccetti as mayor? Magic?"

  "Better than that." She grinned. "Sneakiness. I had Riccetti explain to one of Chton's Joiners that the Engineers weren't interested in any trade with Therranj, not if Chton became mayor. Apparently, Chton figured out that Khoral wouldn't take that at all well, so he decided to outsmart us: Chton nominated Riccetti. Clever move, really: It satisfies Khoral by letting him try to negotiate with Riccetti directly, and lets Chton drive a wedge between us and Lou."

  "But Chton ought to know that won't work. Lou's loyalty isn't in question." Is it?

  "Well, it wasn't." She breathed on her fingernails and buffed them against her chest. "Uhh . . . it seems that Riccetti has long had a horrible crush on me, and that he made some moves on me in your absence. And when I was overheard telling him to keep his filthy hands off me . . ."

  Cute. A phony division for Chton to try to exploit. But just a bit too tricky. "I think you've been hanging around Walter Slovotsky for too long."

  "Oh?"

  "That's his style, not yours."

  "And where is it written that I can't learn?"

  He didn't answer that. Obviously she could learn the sneaky side of Home politics. Matter of fact, there's a lot she could teach me. My natural inclination would have been to stick my thumb in Chton's eye. "Last question: Why did Ahira come along with you?"

  She didn't answer for a moment. "I don't know; he just volunteered. Gwellin agreed to hold off going back to Endell until he returns. Tell me, if you had to guess what one thing he'd miss most about Home, what would it be?"

  "Close call—it'd be either Janie or Walter." Karl sucked air in through h
is teeth. "He's going to ask Walter to come along with him, and bring Kirah and Janie."

  She nodded. "That's my guess."

  Damn. Well, there wasn't anything that could be done about it now. But maybe, later on, either Ahira could be talked out of asking, or Slovotsky could be talked out of saying yes. "Do me a favor. Keep your head down and your eyes open, okay?"

  "Okay." She smiled thinly up at him. "But tell me: What would you say if I told you to do the same thing?"

  "I'd say that I already do." He helped her to her feet. "C'mon, let's join the others."

  A smile creeping over her face, she shook her head. "No. I've got a better idea." Extending a tanned forefinger, she ran a fingernail up his arm. "Since we're trying to maintain an image and all . . ."

  * * *

  Fingercombing the dirt and leaves from his hair, Karl led the way back to the clearing.

  Ranella had most of the gear unpacked, and spread out on tarpaulins on the ground. There seemed to be about two hundred guns, plus several kegs that undoubtedly contained powder and shot, as well as some lead ingots, no doubt for bullets. He nodded silent approval; running bullets was easy enough, and ingots took up less space than premade rounds.

  "Karl Cullinane," Ranella said, nodding. "It is good to see you, Karl."

  He raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to ask why an apprentice Engineer didn't treat a journeyman with a bit more formality, but caught himself. Riccetti must have promoted her during Karl's absence.

  "Journeyman Ranella," he said, returning her nod. "It's good to see you, as well."

  Her face fell. She had expected him to snap at her, and had been looking forward to flaunting her new status at him.

  "What have we here?" he asked.

  "Quite a lot, Karl. Fifty-two pistols, one hundred and sixty shotguns, thirty-three rifles—"

  "Where did you get all these?"

  "You said to bring every weapon we could, so we . . . requisitioned Daven's team's old rifles and most of your squads' weapons. Nehera is working full-time on barrels until they are replaced. Apprentices are taking care of the stocks, locks, rifling, and boring."