Rally Cry (17 page)

Andrew turned to Ivor and extended his hand in a gesture of exasperation.

"Seems like your people started it," Andrew said, going at once to the attack.

"Not as I see it," Ivor snapped.

"Come now. You saw those men. They're gutter sweepings. I know a band of cutthroats when I see them. One of your people tried to rob one of mine,
then
mine was knifed while defending himself. I should be seeking damages from you."

"Never!"
Ivor roared. "I want your man for justice and blood money for the poor victim's family."

"I will not leave my man here," Andrew said coldly. "He needs our doctor now if there's any chance for him to live.

"I'll agree to this," Andrew continued. "If he lives my man will stand trial. Since this is your kingdom but involves one of my soldiers, we'll have two judges, you and me."

"I stand as sole judge for Suzdal," Ivor said darkly. "You will whisk your man back to your fortress and hide him there."

"That would be madness on my part," Andrew replied quickly. "I want your friendship, not your animosity. I acknowledge you as lord of Suzdal, and I am your guard and vassal. But my people are different from yours and I am responsible for them."

"And blood money?"

"I will pay that now," Andrew said, "since your man is dead. If mine should die, though, then the balance is even, for they killed each other, and the matter is settled."

"Ridiculous!" Ivor snapped. "He must face my justice right now!"

Andrew was silent, staring into Ivor's eyes. The boyar did not give this time. Andrew knew the man was in a corner; the crowd outside wanted blood for blood. If Ivor should back down, word would fly that the Yankees had more power than their own boyar. In a way Andrew could almost feel sorry for him. But if he gave his men over to Suzdalian justice and a precedent was set, there could be no end to legal entanglements, his command subject to execution on the most arbitrary of laws. The sight upon his last visit of several rotting corpses hanging from the south wall had made him aware of that. It was something he could never permit happening to his own men.

"Will you agree if I promise this?" Andrew said, trying to find an out. "My man shall be taken back tonight for treatment. I will stay here as a hostage, guaranteeing that as soon as he is well enough to be moved, he will be returned to your palace. There a trial shall be held, but we must judge this together."

Wide-eyed Kal could not help but let his admiration show. It was unheard-of for a noble to offer himself as hostage for a peasant. In such affairs a noble would not even care about what happened to one of his people, and more than likely would spear the man on the spot, just to get the argument out of the way so as not to disturb an evening of drinking.

"I do not like this," Ivor growled, trying to hide his amazement at Andrew's offer.

"That is all I can offer," Andrew said evenly, trying to not let his desperation show. He wasn't one for suicidal gestures, but he would be damned if he would allow one of his
command
to be dragged out, executed, and then impaled on the city wall.

"There is no other way," Ivor said darkly. "I cannot let my people think that you have such influence over me. There is enough trouble with Rasnar as is—he will seize that and use it against me. Perhaps this fight came from
his own
hand. I have risked too much by having you here already."

Andrew looked at Ivor in shock. He had never expected such candor.

"Then we are stuck, my friend," Andrew said evenly.

A loud shout suddenly echoed from the next room, and before the three could even
react
the door burst open. A disheveled warrior, sweat streaming from his face, bowed at the sight of Ivor and started speaking, his voice near cracking with excitement.

Bellowing a wild curse, Ivor stormed out of the room.

"What's happening?" Andrew cried, looking at Kal.

"It's the Novrodians! They're raiding a village north of the city!"

Ivor came storming back into the room and looked at Andrew.

"You are my liege man. One of my villages is under attack!"

Both of the men looked at each other with what almost appeared to be relief, for the impasse of the moment could be forgotten.

"How far away?"
Andrew asked.

"It's up the river, an hourglass ride away, and a brief ride inland. You can almost see it from here."

"
Hawthorne! O'Donald!"

The young private appeared in the doorway, the towering artilleryman barging in behind him.

"Vincent, run quick now, back to the
Ogunquit,
and tell Tobias to get his boilers up at once. O'Donald, leave two men to get James to the palace, grab the rest of your boys, head for the boat, and fire off a blank round. That should bring the rest of our people-tunning. Now move it!"

Andrew looked back to Ivor.

"Get as many of your foot soldiers to my boat as you can, as quickly as possible. We'll go up the river and hit them. The rest of your force can go overland by horse. We'll land north of the village and move in, while you'll move in from the south." Startled, he realized that he had not bothered with Kal but had spoken in Russian.

Ivor suddenly smiled at him, his suspicions confirmed.

He cuffed Andrew on the right shoulder and stormed out of the room, roaring and cursing for his men to follow.

Andrew stepped back into the now-empty tavern. Kathleen was still bent over James, who was moaning weakly, and came to her feet as Andrew approached.

"Fortunate you have a little war to divert everyone's attention from this," she said.

He could not admit to her that it was indeed fortunate.

"Stay with James and help him any way you can."

"We need Dr. Weiss," she replied coldly.

"It can't be helped now—there are more pressing needs."

"There are always more pressing needs than a man's life, isn't that right, Colonel Keane? An innocent man gets knifed by these barbarians, but you rush off to help them anyhow."

"I'm sorry, Kathleen," and he extended his hand to her.

She turned sharply away and knelt back down by the wounded soldier.

Without another word Andrew left the tavern. Racing to the dockside, he did not even notice the two pennants that suddenly broke out from atop the highest spire of the cathedral.

"Drop anchor!"

Within seconds the landing boats rattled down and the men started to swarm over the side. The Napoleon field piece, swinging from the end of a winch, was already poised. Working feverishly, the sailors swung the gun out and eased it down to the lifeboat, where planks had already been laid across the gunnels.

Andrew grabbed hold of a sling and was lowered over the side, into a boat already packed with ten men of Tobias's command, who, armed with muskets, had been converted into marines.

Moments later they were on shore. Company A leaped from their boats and with practiced skill spread out into an open skirmish line, while with much heaving and cursing, O'Donald's men lifted the one-ton artillery piece off the boat and pulled it up on the beach. The boats were pushed off and headed back to the
Ogunquit
to pick up Ivor's troops.

"The village is just on the other side of that ridge, a verst or so away. That trail through the woods leads straight to it," Kal said, pointing to a series of low-lying hills that marched down from the east.

It was obvious to all that something was happening on the other side of the ridge, for the sky was blanketed by a dark roiling cloud of smoke from the burning town.

Andrew took another look at the rough map Kal had sketched for him. Ivor and his knights would be galloping out from the city, coming up the road toward the village. He hoped the Novrodians would be looking in that
direction, never expecting a flank attack
from the direction of the river. With a little luck they'd hit them hard, driving them back before dark. Chances were it was nothing but a raid anyhow, but it'd be a good opportunity for the residents of another city to see his men in action, and to solidify his position with the Suzdalians as well.

"All right, let's move out!"

Spread in open skirmish line, the fifty men of A Company started into the forest, while O'Donald's men and the converted marines grabbed hold of the traces for the artillery piece and started to pull the Napoleon up the trail. Behind them the first of Ivor's men were now landing, and moved up behind the advance.

Running forward, Andrew reached the front of the skirmish line. The men were grim, silent, back again to the old game they had learned in
Virginia
of hunting other men. Instinctively they moved from tree to tree, pausing for a moment, and then with a low rush sprinting ahead another ten yards. They weren't facing men armed with rifles, but an arrow could kill just as easily.

A hundred yards was gained, then another hundred. As Andrew kept pace with the line, he saw the trail before him straighten out and the crest of the hill a quarter mile away. So close were they now that the crackling roar of the burning village could be plainly heard, with smoke billowing up on the other side of the
crest.
He paused and leaned against the trunk of a gnarled oak.

A flutter of breeze snapped past him. It took a moment for what had happened to register. Turning, he looked—the arrow buried in the tree next to him was still vibrating.

"Everybody down!"
Andrew roared.

Several things seemed to occur at once, as if in slow motion. A soldier standing in the middle of the trail started to spin around, an arrow quivering in his chest, his eyes looking beseechingly at Andrew. Rifles rattled off to either side, and above the noise the clear clarion call of a horn sounded.

The woods exploded into action. Dozens of warriors seemed to spring up from the ground. Swords drawn, they rushed forward, screaming fierce battle cries.

Andrew felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand out. They were coming on like Confederate infantry, shouting what sounded like the dreaded rebel yell.

Mark your target, mark your target, be kept chanting to
himself
as he drew careful aim at an ax-wielding beserker. The man went down, shrieking hoarsely.

Another target loomed up on his right. He snapped off a round; the man kept coming, but the second round sent him to the ground.

Turning, Andrew stepped back from the hard-pressed skirmish line and looked about.

It was a trap—they'd walked straight into a goddam trap. Memories of the woods of
Antietam washed over him. From the right he could see they'd already been flanked. Forward it looked like hundreds of warriors were closing in.

Clear your thoughts, he told himself. You're not a fresh fish anymore, dammit.

A warrior broke clear through the skirmish line rushing straight at Andrew, sword raised high.

He drew careful aim, dropping the man so close that he had to jump aside as the corpse rolled past.

"Company
A
, pull back! Pull back to the artillery!"

Blue-clad forms came running out of the battle smoke, and the enemy host roared with delight.

Turning, Andrew started to run down the trail. A soldier beside him stumbled over, an arrow sticking out of his back.

Andrew whirled around, aimed, and dropped the archer. Holstering his gun, he grabbed the boy, dragging him to his feet.

"You've got to run, boy!" Andrew screamed. "Run, dammit!"

Half-dragging, half-pushing the wounded soldier, Andrew turned the bend in the trail. Fifty yards ahead the single field piece was already poised, the gunners ramming a cartridge home. O'Donald and a dozen of his men were running up the trail, pistols drawn.

The roaring charge from the right flank grew louder. Suddenly there was a wild clashing of steel as Ivor's foot soldiers waded into the fight, plugging the hole.

One of O'Donald's men grabbed the wounded soldier from Andrew. Turning, Andrew looked about. The charging
host were
coming on relentlessly, his boys pulling back in for the trail.

"Back to the gun!"
Andrew roared.

His men streamed past as O'Donald's men spread out across the trail. With pistols leveled they delivered six sharp volleys, stemming the attack for the moment and buying precious moments of time.

Andrew stayed with them, knowing that Captain Mina would rally the defense.

"All right, lads, let's run for it!" O'Donald yelled. As one the men turned 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.