Woes and Hose Page 26

He should ask Kiefer Drechfiesling. “Captain Taddeo is Duke Ettore’s right man,” Dick explained. This time, I hope he does a better job than he did protecting the duke in Angoma. “Do the Gepeni know our signals?”

  Reeve Gotelieb was looking at the two camps forming for battle. “My runners will liaise. But it will take time before they learn them fully.”

  “I hope we don’t run out of flizzards,” Dick grumbled.

  Nearby, gunners were preparing their flares so they could alert the Sacony and relay order to Captain Taddeo. Flizzards were fast and words were precious when commanders wanted to send precise orders, but the reptiles weren’t keen on flying too close to carnage, smoke, or fires—or when the weather was foul. The Nurflanders were also trying to bring them down with bow and arrow, they had hawks to try to snare them, and the Hyevan pigs were firing their pistols and arquebuses all the while laughing and betting on their shots.

  Aware of the risk of using flizzards in the heat of a battle, the Ostfort regiment had unfurled their signal banners and started preparing clay shots with colored powders, so they were be able to tell the allies what to do. But first the allies needed to know what different colors signified. Language was going to be a problem. Hopefully, the runners were versed in Valedian.

  “Your Royal Highness, what should we write back?”

  Dick’s thoughts returned to reality. “Reeve?”

  The Drechknight pointed at a tactical map, spread open on a small folding table. Dick leaned over, trying to look keen. “Attack close to Zwerg, then retreat back to a fortified position. Coordinate the movement with General Eusebio. Use artillery to provoke the enemy. We will assist with a two-pronged sally from the north gate. Auxiliaries will strike and retake Rubegering. The saboteurs will engage the enemy again, and try to destroy all their forward cannon. The Drechknights will strike northwest to cut off the enemy from moving south. This will prevent the Barvans from threatening General Eusebio’s left flank so the Brigade can move its guns farther afield and ripple the siege lines. We want the lines broken here and here. The Sacony troops will then engage the foe near Seidebecken. They will wait for our signal before—”

  “Commander,” one of the scouts interrupted. “The Gepeni are moving their forces.”

  Reeve Gotelieb spun around angrily, drawing on his Darav telescope with the fluid grace of an expert sword fighter. “They must wait!”

  “They are moving west, sir. Not north,” the scout continued, calmly, loudly, the device pasted to his eye.

  Dick realized he hadn’t been given a telescope yet, so he snatched one from a Drechknight officer. “West?”

  “Change the message. Order the Gepeni leader to pull back and wait.”

  Time stretched. They waited in silence for the second flizzard to land. It was a big, fat thing, with half its tail shot off, healing and growing a colorless new end.

  The clerk read the message, then paraphrased in an emotionless tone. “Captain Taddeo regrets to inform us that the Gepeni Fanzon Alfonso has decided to attack the Fearless Brigade. He has a personal feud with General Eusebio. Five years ago, the Brigade did not keep to their end of the bargain in the Battle of Bald Hills, making the Gepeni contingent retreat dishonorably and lose face, and the fanzon vowed to challenge the general to a bloody duel when they met next in battle. Fanzon Alfonso feels the adequate time for reckoning is now.”

  Dick blinked. We cannot allow wounded pride to destroy our chances. I must get laid tonight! “Inform the fanzon that his head will be mounted on my bedpost unless he returns to formation and awaits further orders.”

  In dismay, they watched the mercenary corps abandon sane, defensible positions and move toward one another, the siege forgotten for the moment. Not to be outmaneuvered, the Brigade fired first, discharging its cannon into the mass of crossbowmen and light infantry.

  Reeve Gotelieb bunched his fist. “This is why you should never hire mercenary scum.”

  The tribesmen were not going to let a golden opportunity pass. They were forming up for a heavy attack. They would slam into the mercenary cauldron from the side, completely unopposed.

  Wait…

  Dick watched the Nurflander units move like lazy snakes waking up, crawling sluggishly over turf and hill. He could see patterns. And he could see an opportunity of his own.

  “Reeve Gotelieb, send your troops through the south gate. They may be able to breach the siege lines while the enemy is focusing on the mercenaries. Our cannon will keep the Nurflanders engaged.”

  “The Barvans will have complete freedom of movement in the west.”

  “That can’t be helped,” Dick lamented. He didn’t want to lose the Brigade, but he would gladly sacrifice them if that meant relieving the city. The frontal charge against the enemy would have to wait for the second wave of reinforcements.

  I hope the walls remain intact till then, he thought. They had received no news from the Enissians. Thinking about it, he wasn’t sure what to expect from the First Citizen’s Army anymore. They might also have their own grudges and vendettas.

  Puffs of cannon smoke erupted over the fields to the south, then the grumble and chuckle of gunfire reached the walls, delayed by distance. The Brigade was killing the Gepeni, reducing the chance of anyone going to Challe that evening, Dick noted.

  This is so unfair. Everyone is trying to make my life difficult. All Dick had ever truly wanted was for his father to die. Was that so much to ask?

  He watched with a pained expression of wonder and chagrin as the friendly forces clashed, and then the Nurflanders were moving, a wedge of stinky fur, long hair, embellished tribe mascots, and nasty blades. They, too, were quarreling, every chieftain trying to gain advantage in the rush.

  “Damn mercenaries,” a knight hissed.

  A new flizzard alighted on the keeper’s extended arm and promptly shat. The old man was oblivious to the streak of greenish white on his tunic.

  The Drechknight clerk carefully handled the message satchel, then read the new letter from Captain Taddeo: “Fanzon Alfonso feels his honor has been satisfied sufficiently, so he will now fall back to the original plan. He has disengaged the Brigade and will form up against the Nurflanders.”

  Shortly thereafter, a speckled coal flizzard delivered news from General Eusebio: “Delayed start commencing the offensive due to unforeseen elements. Lost two hundred men and the cannon will need to rest for an hour before they can fire.”

  Dick grunted. “The Gepeni fuck will pay. Don’t write that. I want them to hold, at all costs.”

  Reeve Gotelieb was relaying orders to his subordinates. The Drechknight banners were pouring out through the south gate, angling toward the Nurflanders. The enemy was busy attacking the mercenaries, and they did not seem to be paying any attention to Ostfort. They were too confident in their strength.

  A falcon discharged a ball of red smoke. The banners broke into two prongs, one moving to cut off the enemy retreat. From the north, a ripple of guns signaled a diversion. Ritter Heimo wasn’t at the south gate, so Dick couldn’t see his face, but he imagined it bore a grim look. His men would have to seize the village of Rubering without any support. The Barvans just might abandon their circling maneuver and strike back. Without adequate protection, the auxiliaries would be destroyed. Ostfort would take years replenishing its city watch.

  It can’t be helped, Dick thought.

  White smoke. The banners moved to canter and tightened their formation. The two columns acted with such precision, it was admirable.

  The fat flizzard was back. “Captain Taddeo is retreating. His right flank is being overwhelmed, and he has no support. Fanzor Alfonso has already abandoned the field of battle, and will regroup on the south bank of the Flohfluss.”

  “I should have instructed them to burn the bridge after crossing it,” Dick hissed.

  Crispin leaned closer. The manservant had been carefully following the combat, but had refrained from saying anything so far. Dick admired Crispin’s sensitivity. He knew
when not to speak and when to ask the right questions. “Why, Master?”

  “Then they wouldn’t have been able to flee like rats.”

  The Drechknight riders on the right hit the Nurflanders like a red-hot iron sinking into clay. They easily cut through the Nurflander ranks and emerged on the other side, forming up with the confused and disarrayed Brigade. The left prong did not attack. They just wheeled close to the enemy, making them nervous, forcing them to lose stride and slow their own advance. That gave Captain Taddeo just enough time to pull back to safety. The Gepeni were almost across, and they had started shooting their bolts in a weak display of support.

  The fighting continued for almost an hour, the Drechknights nipping at the Nurflanders like wolves, taunting, wearing them, without committing themselves to a bloody close combat. Reeve Gotelieb was not going to lose men in the open fields.

  “We have not fooled the Barvans,” the ever-sharp Drechknight scout commented in his annoyingly calm tone. “Commander, Your Royal Highness.”

  Moving from the west was the bulk of the Barvan force. They had not lingered behind to try to dislodge the auxiliaries. They had completed their maneuver and were moving against the Fearless Brigade and the knights.

  Our troops are on the wrong side of the castle. All because of that fanzon.

  Reeve Gotelieb placed a red-painted lead figurine onto the battle map. “They must be confident that our soldiers in Rubegering pose no threat to their siege lines, so they can always engage them later. They will leave the auxiliaries to the Hyevans.”

  Three yellow clay shots exploded on the ground. A horn sounded. The Drechknights started moving back. They would not fight any more today. With the Barvans converging on the bloody cabbage fields south of Ostfort, they could either stay and die, remain cut from the city with limited supplies, or dash back to the safety of walls, guns, and warm barracks. The choice was simple, and Dick and the reeve had already agreed on what the knights should do.

  “This is a disaster,” Komtur Poldi spat.

  Dick arched a brow. Things must be really dire to prompt the taciturn officer to speak. My reinforcements are nothing but a bunch of cowards. “Get your men to safety.”

  The Nurflanders and the Barvans were both chasing the Drechknights now. They wanted to get to the walls before the gate closed. They could smell blood, and a chance to breach the city, and the temptation was too great.

  The wall cannon waited until the last Drechknight crossed the safety marker of the last house in Tottenosse before firing. A hundred guns belched almost simultaneously. The noise was tremendous, beautiful. On the folding table, wine sloshed in cups, and maps and reports rippled from the hot air blast. Nearby, the flizzards were screeching, shaking, and rattling their cages. The Tooth was wrapped in acrid fumes from the guns firing from the level just below the squat, flat top.

  Dick could hear engineers groaning, pushing their cannon forward in the embrasures, ready for a second salvo. Then the patter of a thousand feet as the helper crews rushed around, carrying palls of sand and water, bags of powder, and buckets full of nails and scraps and chains.

  “Fire!” the chief gunner yelled a few moments later.

  Dick had to blink dust from his eyes. The men were now depressing the guns for a shorter-range engagement. The Barvans were milling at the outskirts of Tottenosse, dragging their mangled comrades out of the way. The village road, normally a well-beaten track of gravel, was a creek of red.

  The third volley obliterated Tottenosse. It was like a storm tearing through wet straw. Houses buckled and roofs exploded, fires caught in a dozen places, and soon, the village was engulfed in flames, desperate tribesmen trying to escape the carnage and deadly smoke.

  Dick still felt leery about destroying his father’s property. But it couldn’t be helped. Old Fart would have to forgive an odd inn or mill ruined in combat; he would not forgive the loss of a palatine.

  He breathed more easily when the last knight trotted into the fort-city and the gate closed. Looking through the shimmering haze of heat and smoke, he saw the different parties departing the battlefield. The Gepeni had been wounded, mostly by General Eusebio. The rest of the Sacony regiment had managed to escape destruction, but they had been hurt badly. The tribesmen were marching back to their siege lines, heavily bloodied but still strong. Dick had no idea what was happening in the north. The Voice continued its slow firing, oblivious to the life and death games of the little people.

  In the morning, Dick figured, watching a bloody sun vanish behind a screen of soot and low clouds, he would find an assassin—one not keen on trying to murder him—and send the killer into the Gepeni camp. The man would return with the head of Fanzon Alfonso in a bag. That poxy hireling had ruined the day. There would be no feasting, no celebrations, and no whores.

  And there are still more mercenaries coming our way. Still more ways to make things go wrong.

  The Drechknight contingent assembled just below the gatehouse. Reeve Gotelieb waited for his officers to remove their riding armor and join him at the top of the Tooth. Without showing any sign of dejection or weariness, they launched into a long discussion on what they could do tomorrow, hot enemy blood still dripping from their gauntlets.

  Broody, disappointed, exhausted, restless, and agitated, Dick decided he couldn’t listen to this military talk anymore. He wanted to retire to the Royal Tower for a bath. Then he realized he didn’t have a bath chamber anymore, and he would have to squat in a small, uncomfortable tub, with Crispin or some preferably buxom girl pouring pitchers of hot water over his head.

  “The fighting is over,” he announced. “For today.”

  Reeve Gotelieb frowned.

  Dick felt an awkward sense of unease grip him. He almost felt bad for leaving the tower. What was coming over him? “Reeve,” he mumbled.

  “Prince Dietrich.” It wasn’t an admission of respect, Dick knew. But it meant that maybe, just maybe, the Drechknight found Dick’s conduct reasonable, and that his decisions today were worthy of a warrior.

  He should feel proud, but he couldn’t summon the emotion. Instead, he was annoyed that this war still raged on. Exhausted, Dick let Crispin lead him back to the old customs house. Dear Saint, why are you testing me so? Was it because I shirked theology lessons as a child? Do you hate me? Why don’t you hate my father? He deserves it more.

  The Voice of Gramik hit the northeastern wall again.

  One day, Dick swore, one day I will be the king.

  CHAPTER 36

  Sights and Smells

  “Diplomacy? The art of words over swords.”

  —GARNA, FAMOUS PHILOSOPHER, BEFORE THE FALL OF THE VALEDIAN EMPIRE (EST. 360 YEARS TO THE END)

  26th Day of the Month of the Sickle

  Twenty-one hills. Twenty-one houses. Twenty-one small worlds.

  Over the past several decades, as part of its strategy to dominate the world with its influence, cultural impact, and vast finances, the White Confederacy had allowed twenty-one nations to build small yet elegant posts around Neuchtaffel, each one positioned on a hill within a short walking distance from the capital’s center. Do as you please, the Constables would vouch, one after another, we will not interfere.

  Even in times of war, the Confederacy guaranteed safety to the men and women stationed inside these houses—“embassies,” they called them. No matter how grim the battle on a far field somewhere, there was always room for civilized conduct among the nations, the Confederates believed.

  Twenty-one nations were considered enlightened enough to be allowed onto the hills around Neuchtaffel, and whatever went on inside them, the Confederates ignored.

  Mina found the concept quite naive.

  Father would infiltrate the houses with his spies. And in times of war, he’d burn them.

  She looked at Didier. Well, the Confederates might not be complete fools.

  “So you do not meddle or interfere with their business?” she repeated, trying to catch the servant off guard. “E
ven if the Confederacy is fighting their nations?”

  Didier wagged his immaculate eyebrows. “That is so, milady.”

  “They might be spying on you. They might be conspiring. They might even have assassins in there, too.” I shouldn’t be speaking about assassins.

  Didier giggled, as if the prospect excited him. “They might, milady.”

  He is not mad. He is toying with me. She was unable to decipher Didier’s mind. He was always playful yet serious, intimate but detached, and she wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Months spent in the home of her betrothed had not made her any wiser.

  “Why?”

  “Didier does not understand, milady.”

  “What advantage does that give the Constable?”

  Didier smiled and touched a finger to his lips. “Instead of having enemy spies on the loose, running everywhere like little rats, one gives them a home.” He giggled again. “Much easier that way.”

  “They are still spying,” she countered weakly.

  “Yes. And they see and hear things.” He giggled again.

  It made sense. The Constable could feed his enemies with the information—and misinformation—he wanted, and he could easily study their intentions by watching the people in the embassies. It was all done in the open.

  Mina loved intrigue. She believed Father was sometimes too crude, too violent, although he was deceptively cunning and often hid it beneath his warrior-like manners. But this… was almost too much even for her.

  And today, she was going into one of the houses.

  The Faranc embassy, no less.

  Apparently, the Faranc king had celebrated his fortieth birthday several eightdays ago, and it was his custom to hand out little gifts to the trusted members of his court. In Neuchtaffel, this meant that the head embassier of the Faranc delegation was going to be bestowing gifts on Quentin’s nobles and friends in a special ceremony.

  As the Constable’s betrothed, she had received a personal invitation.

  It’s a trap, she thought.