His eyes found Tarlok again. And the women, now with their torn and trampled clothing clutched to them. “Major, take these women to the Sisters. Tell Omara what happened; tell her to do something for them. And get them some clothes; Barlin’s Company will pay for them.”
He turned to the men in ranks. “Company, ’tention! Right face! Forward march!” Calling cadence, he marched them out of the firelight, through the night to the battlefield, most of them barefoot and without pants. On the bloody killing ground, he double-timed them back and forth, controlling them from a central position, for he’d become so much a horseman, he’d done no serious walking for months, let alone running. While they were infantry, their legs tough, their lungs like bellows. After about twenty minutes he marched them back, but before he dismissed them, he asked who’d been second in command.
A tall, rawboned man spoke up. “I was, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Arliss, lieutenant, 2nd Kormehri Infantry, sir.”
“Lieutenant, you are now a captain, and company commander. Congratulations on a first class company. But remember . . .” Abruptly his voice raised to a roar. “NO RAPING! AND NO MURDERING CIVILIANS! I don’t want to send any more of you to Hell.” He paused. “I’m turning them over to you now, Captain. Take up a collection for the women, tonight. Every man will give something. Something valuable, whatever he has.”
With that, he turned and strode out of the firelight.
From the Kormehri bivouac area, he went back to look in on Melody again. She’d been awake, or on the verge of it, because when he stepped in, her head turned, eyes open. “Hello, Macurdy,” she murmured. “Where have you been?”
“Here, a few times. The last two you were asleep, and the first time you didn’t know where you were or what had happened.”
“Want to feel my lump?”
“Sure.” He knelt, and his fingers touched her head. “Pretty good one.”
She chuckled weakly.
“How’s your headache?”
“Not bad. But when I got up to use my bucket, a little while ago, I was pretty dizzy.”
“I had a Sister look at you. She said you’ll be a lot better tomorrow, but you need to stay in bed a day or two more.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know what’s really good for someone in my condition?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Remember what I did for you after you got beaten up so badly?”
He nodded.
“If you’d do something like that for me . . .”
He bent and kissed her cheek. “Not now.”
“When, then?”
“Sometime. Soon. If we get through this war alive.”
“Do you mean it?”
Again he nodded.
“Will you marry me?” she asked.
He felt his head going up and down as if it had a will of its own.
“Kiss me,” she said. “On the mouth. To make it real.”
He did, softly, sweetly.
“I feel stronger already, Macurdy.”
He stood up. “Go back to sleep, spear maiden.”
Obediently she closed her eyes, and turning, he padded quietly from the room. Feeling like a wooden man, wondering how he could possibly have said what he had.
38: Lord Quaie
Cyncaidh rode erect but relaxed at the head of his staff, on a smooth-gaited stallion that would not have tolerated an ordinary rider. In front of him, the Emperor’s elite 1st Cavalry Cohort filled the road almost to the top of the next rise. Two complete legions followed, twenty cohorts of cavalry and mounted infantry with their supply trains, a great cumbersome dragon extending for miles, its serpentine body integrated by well-drilled protocol and couriers on horseback.
He sniffed, and smiled ruefully. A morning like this should smell of wildflowers and meadow grass, but already the odors of horse urine and trampled manure dominated. At the rear of the column, the road would be nearly mired with it. If the breeze would just swing round to the east or west, instead of holding from the south . . . From the south. He wondered how yesterday’s battlefield smelled, after a day of sunshine, warmth, and flies. Mearigher’s casualty report, delivered by courier the day before had been bad enough, but to actually see the remnant of Mearigher’s army with its hospital train this morning had been powerfully sobering.