Part 36 (1/2)

That was almost the last coherent observation the lance-major was able to make. No sooner had Nexo cried out his orders than a rock, which the lance-major thought sling-launched, caught him below the rim of our famous helmet, crus.h.i.+ng his face and probably killing him instantly.

The mob screamed triumph. Well-trained troops would have paid no mind to the loss of their officer, but would have automatically obeyed his last command. But the Helms were anything but well trained, and hesitated.

In that fatal moment the Helms were struck hard. Missiles rained, some sling-fired, some thrown hard and accurately. People appeared on the roofs and in the upper stories of the tenements, carrying cobblestones, bricks, anything heavy, and a rain of death came down, sending soldiers spinning from their mounts, their horses rearing crazily, las.h.i.+ng out in their own pain and rage.

Instead of the mob breaking, the Helms broke, turned their horses, and kicked them into a gallop, back the way they'd come, straight into the other three columns, and as the chaos spread the mob charged.

*Sometime during this, Captain Abercorn was pulled from his horse and beaten nearly to death. Two years later, he was discharged from hospital a broken cripple, with no memory of anything that happened that day.

There were men in mat rabble who knew what they were doing-or possibly had been trained by the Tovieti. Men with knives darted close to horses, cutting hamstrings, slicing into bellies, slas.h.i.+ng at animals'

throats, and finis.h.i.+ng their riders when they came off.

The lance-major who told the story had been knocked from his horse by a well-thrown bottle that shattered and took out an eye. He'd had sense enough to roll into an open doorway and play dead in his gore until the melee was over.

C Troop would almost certainly have been wiped out to the last man if someone hadn't ”seen” army reinforcements coming from behind, the single other open street in the square, and screamed a warning.

Now it was the mob's turn to panic, and in an instant it was no more than hundreds of fear-crazed commoners, each looking to save his own skin. The irony is there were no reinforcements-whoever'd called for the Helms hadn't thought that more than a single column was needed, and our own commanders didn't think of providing backup. By the time word of the disaster came to our cantonment, it was all over, and there was nothing for me, and the others, to do but rage impotently.

Of the men who rode out of the Golden Helms' barracks that morning, thirty-two returned. Forty-six were dead or dying, and forty-one others were wounded. And this was just the beginning.

The regiment exploded in blind wrath, wanting to ride into Chicherin and kill everyone in sight. Then came fear, as the men thought an entire city had turned against its favorite gilded toy, the Golden Helms.

That fear was almost paralytic. We had five men go absent, which was a rarity. Several legates began talking about transferring to other, more distant posts, or perhaps applying for long leave with their families.

Domina Lehar and too many of the other officers seemed helpless, not sure what should be done.

I requested an audience with the domina, even before the funerals of the men of C Troop, and as politely as I could, which was not very, reminded him that I'd seen real fighting on the Frontiers, as had Lance Karjan and a sprinkling of others. I told him I had personal knowledge that this was not an isolated incident, but he could expect more and most nicely bloodier things to happen.

He looked haplessly about his office, found no suggestions in the statues, plaques, and awards various dignitaries had sent the Golden Helms for dazzling them on parade, and said perhaps I was right.

I should immediately begin drawing up a training program for the Helms. He'd approve it instantly, and we could begin schooling the men in the practical aspects of soldiery.

”Sir,” I said. ”Can't we just start teaching? Does everything have to be on paper before it's done?” I might as well have suggested we all grow wings and become cavalry of the sky. I saluted, and was about to leave.

”Please hurry,” the domina said. ”We'll need your expertise soon, I know. And one other thing. That lance you named... Kirgle or Kurtile?”

”Karjan, sir.”

”Since he's seen fighting, I want him promoted. Make him a lance-major. No. I want him listened to.

Troop guide.”

That was Domina Lehar's idea of desperate action.

I told Karjan about his sudden rise in fortune, and he refused to believe me. I showed him the written order from Domina Lehar, and his face clouded in anger.

”I turned down th' rank slashes when y' offered 'em back in Sayana, sir, an' there's naught that's happened t'change my mind.”

”You don't have a choice this time, Karjan. The domina spoke, and by the lance of Isa you'll sew the d.a.m.ned slasheson!”

'Tilnot!”

*I was losing my temper; one of the few competent men I knew was refusing promotion, while all these morons about me were clamoring for greater and greater rank, even though the idea of actual responsibility horrified them.

”You shall!”

Karjan glowered at me and I back. He was the first to look away.

”Ver' well. I'll wear 'em, sir. But I give you m'word I'll go on a bender th' first day we're off an' wreak enough havoc t' lose 'em for good an' all.”

”The h.e.l.ls you will!” I bellowed, and a vase on the table beside me tumbled and shattered. Karjan looked stubborn.

”Let me put it like this. Youwill sew on the badges of rank, showing proper respect for the army you joined. Youwill do your duty as a senior warrant until I tell you otherwise. You willnot go on any drunk and you will certainlynot tear up any bars, is that clear?

”You won't for one reason. Because if you do not obey my orders, obey them just as I've told you, I will take you out behind these barracks and only one of us will walk back. I promise you two other things: The one who stays on the ground shall not be me, and you shall certainly need a good time in the hospital before you rejoin the troop. And the minute you're healed we'll go back out and I'll hammer your sorry fool a.s.s again!”

Karjan stared at me, and a look of grudging admiration spread.

”I b'lieve you would do just that. An' I b'lieve you might win.”

”Sir.”

”Sir.”

”Now go get your G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned sewing kit out and stop bothering me, Troop Guide. I have a stupid d.a.m.ned training schedule to write!”

But I got no work done on it mat day.

The orderly messenger knocked on my office door an hour later. I bade him enter, and he told me, eyes wide in awe, that f, with Domina Lehar's compliments, I was to report to the Palace of War in full uniform, two hours hence.

I thought of asking why, but of course the boy, just a fresh recruit, would not have known. I, too, was shocked. The Palace of War was the headquarters for the entire Numantian Army.

”Thank the domina, and I of course shall obey,” I said formally. The messenger started to leave.

”Wait. Did the domina tell you who I was to report to?” ”Oh. Yessir. Sorry, sir. I was... too excited, sir.” ”Dammit, lad, the only thing that'll keep you alive in war is repeating your orders just as they're given.

Now, tell me die rest of what the domina said.”

The boy gulped and told me I was to report directly to General of the Armies Urso Protogenes.

Then it was my turn to goggle. What couldhe want from a lowly captain?

I couldn't even imagine, but I had less than two hours. I shouted for Troop Guide Karjan to get his a.s.s back in here and help me.

I was at a complete loss.

Not quite two hours later, in dress uniform with an armband of black, which all men of the Golden Helms were wearing after Chicherin, I was ushered into the antechamber of General Protogenes's office.