He took a last look at that glorious crown of golden hair, making no attempt to recognize the features beneath it. So would he choose to remember a man whom he had once called brother. Gold, shining in the sun; not tattoos and scars across a face grown scarred already with hate and fury.
He stepped forward and seized the officer’s shoulder with a firm hand. Then, having the man’s attention, pointed across the field.
“Him, you see? Yes? I want him down. Now. All guns trained on him. Maintain case shot.”
It was a well-trained crew, whatever the qualities of the officer. Within moments, the command was carried out. Smoke clouds filled the air.
When they cleared, the gold was gone.
Three volleys later, the Southrons were in full retreat. Some, pouring back into the pocket behind the wall. Others, and most of them—the pocket was a death trap—desperately trying to thread an escape route between the guns and Demansk and the third brigade drawn up to block their route.
Some of them would make it. Most wouldn’t. And, once again, Confederate regulars had not even had to bloody their assegais. They would later, in just a bit, as they stormed over whoever was left huddling in the pocket. But that would be more of a massacre than a battle, against an enemy completely disorganized and broken in spirit. Their casualties would be very light.
Already, the first cheers were going up. Adrian’s heart felt like a lump of lead. But he realized that this day, if not already, he had cemented his position within the hearts of Vanbert’s regulars.
Our golden boy, by the gods! Our good luck charm! Even if he is a crazy Emerald!
Play it out to the end, lad. You father-in-law needs it and you owe those spearmen that much anyway. And perhaps Esmond also.
Adrian turned to face the serried ranks, removed his helmet, and bowed toward his father-in-law’s men. Then, turning slightly each time, bowing again and again, as he gave each regiment its due.
A golden head acknowledging stalwart hearts. Power recognizing its source. Tyranny triumphant, returning the favor.
Chapter 32
Demansk found Adrian squatting next to a corpse lying on the battlefield. The corpse was a mass of blood and torn flesh, looking as if it had caught an entire load of canister itself. Other than being the body of a large man, there was no way to recognize anything else about it.
Except—
As he drew closer, Demansk spotted a piece of the scalp. He didn’t have to remove his son-in-law’s helmet to know that the color would match the bright corn-gold of Adrian’s own hair.
Adrian hadn’t seen him yet. The young man was simply staring across the field, looking at the river which flowed sluggishly through Franness. His eyes seemed unfocused, which, Demansk didn’t doubt at all, they were in actual fact. He knew that stare; had done it himself more times than he could remember.
The sight, along with that of a face drawn far more tightly than a young man’s should be, brought a decision. Demansk had been weighing Adrian’s advice; hesitant, matching his son-in-law’s proven shrewdness against old Vanbert wisdom—also proven, time after time; not being able to decide.
Enough. I don’t trust that old bloodlust. Less, now, than ever. Do I really need to prove to anyone, any longer, that I’ll wade through a river of gore?
Adrian had noticed him, finally. The golden head was turning his way.
And there’s this, too. That actor Arsule told me about yesterday, the one who played a part for so long that he forgot who he was. For all the damn chatter, it’s amazing how often she hits something. Whether she means to or not, who knows? But—
Enough. Enough!
“All right, Adrian. We’ll try it your way. Be ready by nightfall.” Demansk glanced toward Franness. “As you predicted, Prelotta’s men didn’t fire on us while we scoured the rest out of the pocket. So I guess that counts for something. If he sends out for a parley—what’s the signal again—?”
“With Reedbottoms, it’ll be a bushel of reeds, carried by two old women.” The voice, like the face, was harsh beyond its years. “That’s the usual practice, anyway. How Prelotta will manage it, here, I don’t know. But it’ll be something similar.”