The Tyrant by Eric Flint and David Drake

He was not surprised. On matters of this nature, at least, he had come to respect deeply the opinions of his two “spirits.”

He was surprised, a bit, to hear that Esmond himself was apparently considered one of the top contenders for the chieftainship. But, there too, Raj and Center enlightened him.

Barbarians are usually less preoccupied with matters of bloodlines than civilized nations. And they take adoption seriously. With his usual wit: Damn well better, as miserable and painful as they make the whole process.

yes. genghis khan did not disown his wife after she was captured and raped by enemies. nor even the son who was born thereafter, whose paternity was never certain. that son was eliminated from consideration during the succession because of it, years later, but never penalized otherwise. the whole matter was simply treated by the mongols as a practical problem, not an issue of shame and disgrace.

Thinking of Helga’s situation after her own capture by pirates, Adrian couldn’t help wincing. Had her father been anyone other than Demansk, she would have been kept in real seclusion, not simply the appearance of it. Among Emeralds, truth to tell, even more than Vanberts. “Shame and disgrace.” There were times when he wondered if civilization was anything more than barbarism with fancy trimmings.

Oh, it’s a lot more than that, Adrian. It’s just that civilization brings with it vices of its own. All of which, however, is academic at the moment. The key thing is that the Grayhills are leaving—tied up and slowed down by their great booty of livestock, to boot—and with Esmond being one of the main contenders for the chieftainship he certainly won’t be prone to breaking off on any sudden chases. Now’s the time. There won’t be any better.

* * *

Quietly, Adrian passed the word to Donnuld Grayn to get the Strikers ready for a forced march. Helga and Jessep, of course, would handle their own men, just as he’d do the same for the Fighting Band. The camp followers wouldn’t be a problem. In their own way, they were also veterans, accustomed to reacting quickly whenever their men told them to do so.

* * *

Adrian began the escape shortly after midnight, taking advantage of a clear sky and a full moon. His camp was far enough away from Franness that it couldn’t be seen directly; nor, of course, would anyone be able to hear the sounds of an army on the march. Not as much noise as there was filling the streets of a city being sacked. A relatively mild sort of sack, granted, since Prelotta was making sure the city itself and its populace was not destroyed. But any kind of sack does not lend itself to maintaining sober and alert sentries.

To the disgruntlement of the Vanbert-trained veterans among his men, Adrian ordered the camp left intact instead of dismantled. Pulling apart the temporary fortress would take hours better spent creating as much distance as possible between them and Franness. And there was always the chance that the Reedbottoms would even be fooled through a good portion of the following day, seeing, at a distance, the camp still erect and apparently occupied.

* * *

In the event, there was no pursuit. Save only a small band of Reedbottoms who caught up with them two nights later. But they were more in the nature of a delegation than anything else.

One of Prelotta’s chieftains was in charge. When Adrian came up to him, after the chieftain was allowed into the camp which had been erected that night, the man did not dismount. Although he looked as if he wished he could. Reedbottoms always looked a bit awkward perched on saddles.

The chieftain’s name was Rawal, and Adrian remembered him as being a rather good-natured fellow. Which, indeed, he was.

“Great Chief Prelotta says you are a fool, Adrian Gellert. But”—here, a magnanimous wave of the hand—”he does not curse you. Although I shall, since you’ve led me on a miserable chase. Damned velipads. Ought to roast the lot of them and be done with the stupid business.”

Rawal shifted in the saddle, easing obviously stiff muscles. Then, grinning: “Thought you’d have gone straight north. That woman of yours, again. Talked you into returning her to her western homeland, didn’t she? Ha! You should beat her more often.”