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and started to run, leaving two of their companions dead on the trail.
At the sight of their fleeing, the Novrodians sprang forward with wild shouts.
It seemed as if hundreds of them were pouring into the attack.
O'Donald, filled with the fierce joy of combat, turned, produced another
pistol from his belt, and snapped off several more rounds, roaring with
delight as three more men went down.
Reaching the gun, the group rallied. Andrew looked about quickly. His men were
forming up in a V formation to either flank of the gun, rapidly reloading, as
Mina grabbed and pushed bodies to create a double volley line, the obviously
terrified sailors filling in the gaps, while Ivor's foot soldiers formed a
shield wall to either flank. Turning the bend in the trail, the enemy host
slowed at the sight of the gun, while through the woods to either side the
charge started to press in.
"Hold fire on the gun," Andrew shouted. "Let 'em get close. Company A
first rank present! Fire!"
A sharp volley snapped out.
"Reload. Second rank fire!"
Within seconds the woods filled with smoke as volley after volley snapped out,
the men drawing their courage back from the old familiar routine.
Ahead the enemy host seemed to be building up for the rush, while on the left
archers were gaining position and started to pour in a deadly fire.
Suddenly a single form leaped forward from the mob ahead. It was obviously a
priest, his golden robes swirling madly as he shouted and roared, his staff on
high. With a wild cry he started forward. In an instant the floodgates opened
and the host swept forward.
"Stand clear!" O'Donald roared.
The Napoleon leaped backward, the thunderclap explosion tearing through the
woods. Sickened, Andrew turned away as the double load of canister slashed
into the enemy ranks. The attack forward had simply disappeared.
There was a moment of silence, as both sides paused to gaze at the carnage.
Half a hundred bodies were piled up before the gun. In three years of war,
Andrew had never seen such destruction from a single round.
Several of the sailors turned from the ranks, retching at the sight. The rest
of the men stood silent. Singly, and then as one, the Novrodians broke and
started back up the hill.
"They've learned never to charge guns," O'Donald said coldly.
"Load solid shot let's give 'em a chaser."
The gun leaped again. The round crashed into the woods, snapping down several
trees.
"All right, keep the ranks close," Andrew shouted. "Forward, at the double.
O'Donald, hold here, get ready in case we're pushed back again.
Somebody give me a pistol."
One of the artillerymen tossed him a loaded revolver, and leading the way,
Andrew started up the trail. Trying not to look too closely, he stepped past
the bodies. Turning the bend in the trail, he saw a small band of the enemy
starting to regroup.
"Volley fire forward," Andrew shouted.
Rifles snapped to position, and a sheet of flame lashed out. Cartridges were
torn, steel ramrods slammed fresh rounds home, and weapons were brought back
up.
"All right, forward again at the walk!"
With leveled bayonets the company spread out to either side of the trail.
Arrows snicked past, and with a grunt of pain another man went down by
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Andrew's feet. Another bolt shot past, slashing into Andrew's empty sleeve, so
that it dangled loosely by his side.
For the first time he realized that he was being singled out as a target, but
the realization only gave him a grim determination to drive the enemy back.
Another volley was fired, a twenty-yard advance, and then another volley.
They gained the end of the woods and saw the burning village before them
aswarm with several hundred men pulling back, rushing to their horses, which
were picketed in a small clearing at the other end of town.
Many of them were already mounted, waving their weapons and shouting
defiantly.
A high clarion call sounded off to the right. Stepping out into the clearing,
Andrew could see Ivor and his men charging out of the woods a quarter mile
away, Novrodians fleeing before them.
By the time Ivor was within hailing distance the last of the attackers had
already disappeared off toward the east.
"Captain Mina," Andrew said grimly, "take roll, and get our dead and wounded
back to the ship."
Andrew stepped out of the woods and started toward Ivor. A wave of
light-headed giddiness swept over him, and his knees felt loose and rubbery.
For a moment he thought he might vomit, and he had to struggle for control. It
was always the same after a fight, the exhilaration giving way to shock at
what he had done with such cold joy only moments before. His memory flashed to
the bodies swept to the ground as if from the blow of a giant. At least the
rebs knew what artillery could do. This felt more like murder than anything
else, and he was sickened at the thought.
But it was a trap. That was already obvious. They'd been waiting for him.
Ivor reined his mount in, while signaling for the rest of his command to sweep
forward in pursuit of the enemy.
Kal where was Kal? Andrew wondered, suddenly worried. The peasant had been
aboard the boat and landed, and he had not seen him since. But as if by magic
the peasant appeared out of the smoking woods to stand by his side.
"Just where the hell were you?" Andrew asked.
"Where else, when nobles fight?" Kal replied honestly, "Hiding."
"Maybe you're even smarter than I thought," Andrew replied, seeing nothing but
common sense in the response.
"So you had a good fight," Ivor shouted, reining up by Andrew's side.
"Could call it that," Andrew said laconically. "Would you care to see?"
Turning, he pointed back down the trail, and together the three started back.
Rounding the bend in the trail, Ivor drew his mount up short. Wide-eyed, he
looked at the carnage. Dismounting, he stepped gingerly around the bodies,
looking first at the ground, and then at the torn and shattered trees to
either side of the path.
Turning, he looked Andrew straight in the eye.
"I'm glad after all I decided not to fight you," he said quietly.
"So am I," Andrew replied in Russian.
Ivor walked over to the body of the priest and kicked it over. The face was
half gone. With a curse, Ivor spat on the corpse.
"Halna, priest of Novrod. So the church is now against me in the open."
"And someone knew we were in town today, and planned this attack to lure us
out, and perhaps defeat me," Andrew replied.
"Who else but Rasnar?" Ivor said darkly. "I know my brother Mikhail fled to
Novrod, so that is the plot."
"So what are you going to do?" Andrew asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing, and leave that snake in the middle of your city?"
"He is the arch prelate of all the people of Rus," Ivor replied sharply.
"Move directly against him and not only will I face Novrod, but Vazima, Kev,
Zagdors, all the cities of Rus. My father wrested temporal power from his
father. Because of that I have the support of the nobles of all the cities.
They would not support a move to depose me, for it would threaten their
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position. But not even I would dare to face him directly in this. So I will
act as if this were nothing but yet another raid, as we all engage in to keep
our neighbors off balance from time to time."
"Madness," Andrew said grimly.
"When you know more of my world, you'll not say that," Ivor said, a sharp tone
of admonishment in his voice. "Your men harvested many heads for my wall. My
prestige in this little fight will grow, and others will think twice before
crossing me. You've caused trouble for me, Keane, but you have your uses as
well."
Ivor walked back over to his mount and swung his bulky frame back into the
saddle.
"I shall see you back at the city we'll feast tonight. And yes, our argument
of earlier is settled. Your man died just before I left, so now there is no
problem between us. Now the people will like you again."
Astounded, Andrew watched as the boyar galloped back up the hill. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]