Present Tense [Round Two of The Great Game]

by Dave Duncan

  "My cause was just to save our necks. There was no hope of winning anything, nothing at all. All we wanted to do was get home safely."

  "Xenophon and the Ten Thousand!"

  "On a very, very small scale."

  Better still! Smedley had always approved of wily old Xenophon, and he was intrigued by this charisma business—could use bags more of it on the Western Front! “How did you get them to elect you leader?” he asked.

  Exeter shrugged. “I didn't. It just sort of happened. Joalians are great believers in pour encourager les autres. They'd already beheaded one general. They were ready to shorten his successor and put me up instead. I said I would help, but only if they'd just demote Kolgan back to being my deputy.... I told you, strangers have charisma."

  "But you'd got them safely into the city in the first place,” Alice remarked quietly.

  "True. But that was a magic trick."

  "So how did you get them out?"

  Exeter scratched his chin. “By reading, mostly,” he said vaguely. “We had a whole winter to kill, and there were books in Lemod—that was the city, Lemod. I did a lot of reading. And I had Ysian to help."

  "Who's Ysian?” Alice asked.

  "Er ... a friend, ah, native, I mean. A Lemodian. Helpful."

  "Describe this friend!"

  Even in moonlight, his hesitation was obvious. “A girl. I—I found her under a bed, actually."

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  VI

  Pawn Promoted

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  32

  THE WEST END OF LEMODVALE WAS VERY HIGH AND THE CLIMATE WAS harsher there, but spring had come at last. Snow still lay on the hills, but in the last few days the temperature had risen dramatically, and now a drizzly rain had begun to fall. The world was about to turn green again.

  Lungs strained and boots splashed in the slush as Dosh Envoy sprinted up the street. He could hear the heavy tread and labored breathing of Prat'han Troopleader at his heels. Prat'han was a bigger man by far, but he was weighted down by shield and club. Besides, while acting as D'ward's runner, Dosh had developed the best pair of legs in the army. Knowing that he could win and that winning would matter much more to the troopleader, he eased back slightly. Prat'han drew level. His face was bright red with effort and soaked with sweat. The idiot was wearing a fur suit he had looted somewhere and still persisted in wearing.

  Their destination was in sight, and the two guards on the door were watching the race with interest. Prat'han put on a spurt; Dosh let him edge out in front. He was visibly in the lead as they stumbled up to the door and stopped, gasping. They leaned against the wall to catch their breaths. The guards cheered and clapped the winner on the back, but they had grins for Dosh also.

  He was one of the boys, now. They spoke to him, joked with him, accepted him. If they were ever in doubt about what D'ward wanted, they would ask Dosh's opinion. He found the situation novel, amusing, and infuriatingly pleasant. He had never sought their approval—why should he enjoy it?

  His sins had been forgiven the night he had helped the Liberator break into the city, almost half a year ago. They had been forgotten as soon as Anguan's pregnancy had become noticeable. Oh, once in a while one of the men would snidely inquire who had helped him with that, but the fact that it was cause for ribaldry showed that the former outcast was now accepted as a real man. Dosh's standard response was to explain that he was very versatile. That was absolutely true and always discomfited the inquirer.

  "All here now?” Dosh asked as soon as he could speak. The guards nodded. “Come!” he told Prat'han, and led the way in. He was exceedingly curious to know what the Liberator was going to announce at this gathering. He hoped he had not missed anything important already.

  The sign over the door said this was the house of Timbiz Wagonmaker, but now it was D'ward's. When Lemod had fallen, every man in the army had picked out a home and a woman to look after it—and him. The rest of the population had been slain or driven out, to conserve food. All the Joalian officers had moved into the palace, but the Liberator had chosen to reside with his troops. Although he had selected a home larger than most, he used it to hold meetings, and no one grudged him that symbol of rank. He was the hero who had taken the city.

  He was the Liberator! Everyone knew it now, although he refused to accept the title.

  The ground floor was one big workshop. There was no wagon under construction, but there was plenty of loose timber stacked around the walls. With the big double doors open the place was dim, and Dosh's eyes needed a moment to adjust. He realized how hard it had become to distinguish Nagians from Joalians. They had all survived the winter by dressing like Lemodians. In the last couple of days, some of the Nagians had begun to go around bare-chested. Not many, though. Dosh suspected that even full summer plumage would still leave the two armies looking much more alike than they had in the fall.

  Everyone he had been told to summon had arrived—twenty-seven troopleaders, Kolgan, Golbfish. The new battlemaster preferred the Nagians’ custom of informality, or else he refused to impose Joalian discipline on them. Everyone was sitting. Most of the Joalians were silent and ramrod stiff, while all the Nagians were chattering, and a few were lying stretched out on back or belly. Kolgan Coadjutant and Golbfish Hordeleader were seated on either side of a pile of planks, while D'ward himself sat cross-legged between them. He shot the newcomers a smile of welcome.

  Dosh found himself a dark corner where he could watch the faces. He had not been specifically told to attend the meeting himself and could only hope he would be allowed to remain. He had nothing useful to contribute. Anyone he might conceivably be sent to summon was already present.

  D'ward looked like a long-legged boy between the gangling, red-haired Joalian and the bulky prince. They were obviously in serious disagreement about something. His eyes went from one side to the other and back again as his deputies contended in angry whispers across him. He was saying nothing, and nothing in his expression revealed which side he favored, if either.

  To see the flaccid, wide-hipped Golbfish resisting Kolgan was a phenomenon of note. Tarion would not recognize his half brother now; and when D'ward had been promoted to battlemaster, the Nagians had elected their prince hordeleader unanimously. If Golbfish ever returned to Nagland, Nag was going to be very surprised indeed.

  D'ward threw up his hands to end the argument. Then he spoke to the assembly. His blue eyes twinkled. “To business! We have a slight disagreement here about the tactical situation. Let's have it out in public. Kolgan Coadjutant?"

  The tall Joalian lumbered to his feet. He was scowling, but that was his customary expression. He wore armor over at least one layer of Lemodian woolens.

  Dosh would love to know how Kolgan felt about the Liberator now—a juvenile savage from a minor colony running the Joalian army? The Clique would have his head when they heard of it. But Kolgan would have lost his head a fortnight ago if D'ward had not insisted that it remain attached.

  "Honored Battlemaster,” said the big redhead, “Hordeleader, and Troopleaders. The Thargians may be in Lemodvale already. If they are not, then they will come over Saltorpass the minute it's open. They will secure Siopass to close off our retreat, and they will march west to Lemod.” He glared over D'ward's head as if daring Golbfish to disagree.

  The room was humming with tension. Everyone was aware of the peril. This was why Kolgan had been deposed.

  "There are lesser passes closer to us,” D'ward remarked, “closer to Lemod."

  Kolgan sighed patiently. “But the lesser passes open later. And even if the Thargians do manage to come that way, they cannot cut off our retreat, because they would be on the south side of the river—the wrong side."

  "They could cross the river."

  "No, they couldn't! The only place Lemodwater can be crossed is at Tholford."

  Kolgan sounded very sure of that. Dosh grinned to himself. One of the first things the Liberator had done when Le
mod was taken was to set Dosh to work scouring the city for books on the history and geography of Lemodvale.

  "And our best strategy?"

  "Our only strategy is to wait until Joal sends a relief force. Probably it will come over one of the lesser passes from Nagvale, but those will not open for several fortnights yet—that side of Lemodwall is higher, as you may know. Or they may come over Siopass, as we did, and then follow our route here. In either case, we must wait for relief. Lemod can resist a siege indefinitely."

  "Thank you. Hordeleader?"

  Kolgan sat down. Golbfish stood up, swathed in Lemodian woolens of ill-matched colors. He looked very bulky in them, but his bulk was still visibly pear-shaped.

  "I agree with Kolgan Coadjutant on what the Thargians are likely to do. I disagree with him about staying shut up in Lemod. We do not know if Joal will ever send reinforcements. If it does, they will have to fight their way to us, every step. Lemod has never been taken by storm in the past, but the Thargians can starve us out. I say we march out to meet them in battle! If we are going to die, then let us die bravely in the open, not trapped like rats, eating our boots! We fought our way in here, we can fight our way out again."

  His Nagians cheered him, of course, but without conspicuous enthusiasm. He sat down. Half a year ago, who would ever have expected to hear such defiance from the fat man?

  D'ward glanced around the big chamber, as if inspecting reaction among the onlookers. Then he scrambled to his feet and stepped up onto the pile of planks. “My information is that the Thargian army is already in Lemodvale, and will be on our doorstep very shortly. Has anyone else heard similar rumors?"

  There was a pause, a long pause. A few Nagian hands rose reluctantly. A moment later, some Joalian hands joined them. Angry whispers buzzed through the shop.

  "Rumors!” Kolgan barked. “The city is sealed! Who can know?"

  D'ward smiled down at the tall man's angry glare. “When we were the besiegers, the people inside the walls signaled back and forth to the Lemodians in the woods with flags. Did you not see them at the windows? And there are still many thousands of Lemodians here in Lemod. Those outside have been sending them messages. The rumors are well-founded."

  Kolgan opened and closed his mouth a few times.

  And so did Dosh.

  The women!

  The Joalian had worked it out also. “Can you trust a word they tell you?” he demanded angrily.

  "Yes,” D'ward said sadly. “Some of them. And I am not the only one who has been told, obviously. This is a problem, gentlemen. Some of you have won the love of your companions, and I am sure that hundreds of others have done so also. But most of those women are now with child. I am afraid that we must leave them all behind when we depart, and that—"

  "Depart?” Kolgan shouted. “Go where? How?"

  "Well, home, of course! You don't want to stay here do you?"

  Even the Joalians guffawed at that, even Kolgan himself, but it was laughter with a brittle ring.

  The Liberator folded his arms and looked around the room again. “A fortnight ago,” he said loudly, “you honored me by electing me battlemaster. I asked you then to wait, and to trust me. You did both and I thank you for your faith. Now the time has come. This morning it started to rain."

  He smiled faintly at the puzzled reaction.

  "I am told, and I believe, that the Thargians outnumber us by three to one. The Lemodians must be even more numerous. While I respect Golbfish Hordeleader's courage, I refuse to send warriors against impossible odds. On the other hand, I also refuse to end my life as a slave in the Thargian silver mines."

  The assembly growled agreement like a nest of fourfangs.

  D'ward raised his voice. “When you have eliminated the unacceptable, you are left with the merely impossible."

  He grinned and paused, as if waiting for suggestions. None came.

  "No one's mentioned the rope bridges they maintain in peacetime. I looked into the possibility of building one, but it isn't practical. It would take days, and we'd need half the army on the other bank anyway, to defend the construction. If we could move half over, we might as well move all of it."

  He waited a moment. Dosh wondered how many of the listeners had even known about the rope bridges. He had heard of them from Anguan and come to the same conclusion—they were not a practical solution.

  Receiving no argument, D'ward continued. “It's true that the only permanent, all-weather ford on Lemodwater is Tholford. But at low water, there are other sites where active men can force a crossing. You may think that low water comes in late summer, as it does on most rivers. But Lemodwater is fed by glaciers. Its low point is right now! In a few days the rain and melting snow will start it rising again. Have none of you noticed?"

  Dosh heard the mutter of surprise. Certainly he had not spared the river a glance lately, but he never stood guard on the walls. No one spoke up.

  D'ward shrugged. “Well, you will see shortly. An army can go where traders and normal civilian traffic cannot. My information is that about three days ago, the Thargians arrived in Lemodvale over Moggpass, which is about twenty miles due south of us. That must have been quite a feat, but Thargians are a determined bunch when roused, so I'm told. They headed west, to Thimb'lford. Men can cross there at low water. They should be making their crossing today. Expect them at the gates by tomorrow night or the day after."

  Dosh shivered.

  D'ward waited until his audience fell silent. “Now do you see? They're going to be on our side of the river, the north side. So tonight we shall cross over to the south side! It must be tonight—the rain has begun. We jump the river, and then we make a forced march to Moggpass, which the Thargians have so kindly opened for us. Our only way out is to invade Thargvale itself!"

  The room exploded in tumult.

  D'ward yelled, “Quiet!"—and won silence. “I am your battlemaster! You will take my orders now, or you will depose me and cut off my head! Which is it to be?"

  He was younger than anyone present, an untrained youth garbed in a motley collection of cast-off clothes, and yet he seemed to blaze. Deadly blue eyes raked the room. Not a whisper...

  "Very well. Why does the wall go all around the city? I wondered about that when I first saw it. The only possible reason is that sometimes the river can be crossed! And right now the water is as low as it ever gets."

  Men stirred in excitement. Dosh thought of the cliffs and that roaring white torrent. He shuddered. There would be Lemodians over there, and probably Thargians. Not very many, perhaps, but some.

  "We need planks,” D'ward said, “and all the rope we can find. We can bridge some of the gaps with pontoons. It won't be easy in the dark, but tonight we cross Lemodwater. If we can get one man over, we can get all of us over. Tomorrow we march on Thargvale. The Thargian army will be on the wrong bank—and the river is rising!"

  Escape! He was offering them hope—a slim hope, but a chink of light in a sealed tomb. So what was a thousand feet of roaring foam, sharp rocks, ice floes, and Lemodian arrows? Nothing, compared to the Thargian host. The troopleaders sprang to their feet and cheered.

  D'ward waved impatiently for silence. “This is what we shall do. Secrecy is essential! Some of the women here now support us, but many are still loyal Lemodians, understandably. They will try to signal. When darkness falls, they may set the place alight. We must round up every woman in the city, so there are no signals passed. Every man will need warm clothes, good boots, four days’ rations...."

  The implications struck home to Dosh like a kick in the belly. He was going to be parted from Anguan! He would miss that wiry little Lemodian wildcat. He would never see that child she carried. He had always known that this must come to pass, of course, but the actuality was an unexpected blow. Why? Affection? Gratitude for some wonderful copulation? It was no more than affection, surely?

  Perhaps he was more like other men than he had realized.

  He wrenched his mind back to the Libe
rator, who was spouting a fountain of orders and directives. Obviously he had worked out all the details in advance. As soon as darkness fell, Golbfish and Kolgan were to lead separate columns across the river. Before then, they must obtain ropes and prepare floats, pontoons, and gangplanks. There were tree trunks and ice floes caught amid the rocks. Of course it would be dangerous. They could expect to lose men, drowned or frozen. The enemy on both banks would attack when they learned what was happening.

  If a contested crossing of Lemodwater had been achieved in the past, the Liberator must have learned of it in his reading. He was not mentioning that, so it had never been done.

  The withdrawal of the forces on the gates...

  Oh!

  D'ward asked for volunteers for that contingent and got them—but who could doubt that the rear guard was going to die?

  Logic said it was impossible. The Liberator said it could be done, and his words carried conviction. It was madness, and it was going to happen. It was going to happen tonight. The troopleaders listened in stunned amazement. By morning they and their army would be on the far bank, or they would all be dead. A lot of them were going to be dead anyway.

  Questions?

  Most of the questions were about the women. The women were certainly a problem. The women had been taken as slaves and booty, but copulation was not called “making love” without reason. Many of the men were reluctant to leave their concubines now. D'ward was adamant: The women must stay behind. Never see Anguan again...

  The council took a long time, but the basic plan had been accepted. Only the details needed to be hammered out, and D'ward had answers for every objection. Dosh sat back in his shadowed corner and marveled at this spectacular display of leadership. He could not recall any hint of it in the Filoby Testament. Success or disaster, the coming night had escaped the seeress's foresight.

  Eventually the Liberator had the troopleaders convinced—he had them roused to quivering excitement. When he dismissed them, they stampeded to the door to begin their preparations. Evening was coming fast.