Another curtain had been pushed aside; now a man stepped out. “I’m Colonel Lidsok.”
“Colonel, you are now in command of the Indrossan Army. General Eldersov is under arrest. I’m taking him to the marshal’s headquarters for trial.”
With his curtain open, enough light shone into the corridor that the colonel could see the woman’s teeth. Lidsok hesitated, unsure. Her wrist twitched and the sword tip bit, not deeply, slicing Eldersov’s skin. “Sergeant at arms!” he shrieked, “arrest these intruders!”
Shit! she thought, and thrust hard with her sword, her wrist half turning. What lousy timing. For just a moment, Eldersov stared down at his belly while his life’s blood poured from his severed aorta into his abdominal cavity. Then his knees buckled, and he pitched forward dead, Melody stepping aside. While she’d talked, another man had emerged from a room toward the rear, saber in fist. The sergeant at arms, she decided, and ignored him. “Colonel,” she said, “do you reject Marshal Macurdy’s orders?”
Again Lidsok hesitated, more from not knowing how to address this bloody madwoman than anything else. Ma’am? Sir? He settled on rank. “No, Colonel,” he said. “I do not reject them.”
“Did you hear Eldersov refuse Marshal Macurdy’s orders? And order the marshal’s aide arrested?”
“Yes, Colonel. I heard him do both those things.”
“Good. I suggest you tell your sergeant at arms to drag the carrion out of here and have it tied across a horse. I’ll stop on my way back to the marshal’s headquarters, and take it with me. Eldersov’s no loss. If a general refuses his commander’s orders, particularly in war, God knows how much disaster and death he’ll bring on people, his and his allies. Now, let’s get down to business. You’ll be crossing the river tonight, and I’ve got orders for four more armies to deliver within the hour.”
Lidsok looked at the sergeant at arms. “You heard the marshal’s aide. Drag the body out.”
Reluctantly the sergeant at arms sheathed his saber, came over to his late general, took him under the arms, and began dragging him toward the tent’s back entrance. Melody became aware that the guard she’d followed in still stood there.
She spoke softly, enunciating. “Do you have a post, soldier?” she asked.
He looked to his colonel, then back at Melody. “Uh, yessir.”
“Good. Return to it. And keep your mouth shut. I’ve got a good memory for faces.”
The man sidled away, then turned out through the entrance.
“Colonel, I presume you know your loading area and boats?”
“Yes, Colonel. I’m our embarkation commander.”
“Good. Have your troops strike and pack their tents as drilled, and leave them. In two hours—two hours—your army will be on the shore, ready to go. Their gear will follow in the morning. Any problem with that? Tell me if there is.”
“None whatever, Colonel. And Colonel?”
“Yes?”
“In my view, General Eldersov was not fit to command, and most of his officers feel the same. But he was a crony of the king’s; trouble may grow from this.”
“Thank you, Colonel. At your first opportunity you’ll write to your king, telling him just what happened here. That’s an order, in the interest of the alliance. Perhaps his new wife will help him see reason.”
With her aide she left the tent then, mounted her horse and rode away in the twilight, leaving two awed guards staring after her.
Terel Kithro—Major Kithro—was the “crossing marshal,” responsible for coordinating the embarkation of the various armies. Not the easiest of jobs. Significant mental lapses among key officers could cause chaos.
The moon wouldn’t rise till after midnight, and the Milky Way produced light enough to see only vaguely his immediate surroundings. Torches and bonfires had been forbidden along the river, and loud talk, because sound carries well over water, and the enemy was less than a mile away on the other shore.
But each embarkation commander, and each cohort commander was marked by a loose white cap or wrapping over whatever helmet or other headgear he had on. Also, Kithro had a head for details, quick intelligence, and a responsive memory. He walked briskly along the shore, knowing every motley concentration of small boats, and the cohorts and companies assigned to them. He stopped to speak briefly with each senior commander.