“Up Morguhn! Up Morguhn! Thoheeks Bill! Rally! Rally to the Red Eagle! Up Morghun!”
A sword smashed against his jazeran, but he continued to wobble the heavy banner and shout, the corner of his eye catching the flash of Raikuh’s steel as the captain cut down the reckless Vawnee. And, at first in slow dribbles, then in an increasing, steel-sheathed flood, the scattered noblemen and Freefighters gathered around the upraised Red Eagle Banner, an ever-widening circle whose edges hacked and slashed at the surrounding Vawnee. Beside him, he saw Thoheeks Bili throw down a broken sword and hurriedly uncase his great axe.
“Raikuh, Krahndahl!” he shouted. “Guard the standard. We’re going to run those bastards back to their kennels!”
But when they came to a rough, broken expanse of gullies and dry creekbeds, Bili wisely* halted the pursuit, and the mixed band picked a wary, weary course back to the littered blood-muddy road.
Bili paced his exhausted stallion alongside Geros’ limping chestnut mare and, to the sergeant’s vast surprise and utter embarrassment, placed a steel-cased arm across his bowed shoulders and gave a powerful hug. Teeth shining whitely against the sun-darkened face, now made even darker by the sweaty, dusty mud thickly coating it, he growled hoarsely, “That’s a Wind-given gift, trooper, that voice of yours. Why there were no less than two of the bastards beating Ehleen dance steps on my helm, and still I heard your rally cry! You’ve saved this day, man. But wait. . . .”
Raising his visor for better visibility, he stared at Geros* filthy face, then his grin widened. “I know you, man! You be no Freefighter. You’re Vahrohneeskos Ahndee’s man, his valet, Geros. But I thought me I’d sent you to … where was it, eh?”
Raikuh, who had been riding behind, overheard and came up on Geros’ other side. “Horse County, my lord duke. You sent Sergeant Geros to Horse County with Hohguhn’s force, and he so impressed Bohreegahd that when they came back to rejoin the army, I was”-he grinned slyly-“somewhat loath to let such a natural talent be wasted.”
Bili roared and slapped the plate covering his thigh. “So you made him a sergeant and a standard-bearer, you larcenous bastard. Yes, captain, I judged you aright that day in Morguhnpolis, you’ve got just the touch of thievish ruthless-ness to make a fine Freefighter officer.”
“Yes,” agreed the captain, “I made him a sergeant because I like the lad and he’s fast becoming a weapon master. However, he made himself standard-bearer during the charge up the roadway, when he saved it from falling after Trooper Hahluhnt took a dart in the eye.
“And, standard or no standard, my lord, he fought like a treecat. I had all I could do to shake the battlelust out of him long enough to make him lift the standard and sound that rally. But once he’d got my meaning, he kept waggling the Red Eagle and pealing that call, even with two or three Vawnee hacking at him!”
Bili regarded Geros, who couldn’t have spoken had he tried, for a long moment. Then he brusquely nodded. “I presume others witnessed these acts, captain? Good. I’ll visit your camp sometime this night.” Snapping down his visor, the thoheeks sent Mahvros plodding a little faster toward several dismounted men kneeling and standing around an armored form stretched on the rocky ground.
Old Thoheeks Kehlee looked up, his lined cheeks tear-stained. It was difficult to tell that the dust-coated Mahvros was black, but the old man recognized the double-bitted axe borne by the visored rider. “It’s my second son, Kinsman Bili. It’s young Syros.”
Bili stiffly dismounted, his every fiber protesting the movements. After recasing his axe, he stumped over to his peer’s side, pulled off his heavy gauntlet and extended his damp, red hand in sympathy. There was no need to ask if the young man was dead, for blood and gray-pink brain tissue were feeding a swarm of flies crawling about the gaping, shattered skull.
Nor, it soon became apparent, was Syros Kehlee’s death the worst of their losses. Thoheeks Rahs was sprawled dead on the road, and it was doubtful if Thoheeks Kahnuh would see the rise of Sacred Sun. Half a score of lesser nobles had been slain outright, with that many more suffering wounds of greater or lesser magnitude. Raikuh stoically reported the deaths of forty-three Freefighters, most of them downed by arrows or darts, with perhaps a dozen seriously enough wounded to require treatment. The less well-protected horses had suffered far more than had their armored riders, however, and the horse leeches’ mercy-axes were busy.