Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

dripped scorn. 'I overstepped myself.' Her speech changed, becoming singsong as she recited the liturgy of the Word and Will of Vkandis. 'His Holiness is His Holiness, anointed by the hand of Vkandis, and is the Son of the Sun, and His avatar on earth.' Tregaron guessed her retreat to the liturgy had more to do with survival than religion. Still, the very effusiveness of her recitation argued that even in this, she was poking fun.

Havern appeared unconvinced. He peered at her a long moment, as though trying to see inside her soul. 'You country priests have had it too much your own way for too long. I see that certain, ah ... distortions and baseless rumors have taken root in the provinces. Come to my tent this evening and I will instruct you in the methods by which you might return to orthodoxy.'

Solaris shook her head ruefully. 'I'm sorry, Havern. I've already promised to minister to the Third Battle this night. I gave my word to the Colonel.'

Tregaron wasn't happy she had brought up his name, especially as she had promised to do no such thing. He sighed to himself. No matter how hard he tried to remain neutral, it seemed they were determined to draw him into their feud.

Havern shrugged. 'Well,' he said easily, as if the matter were of no importance, 'I'd like to be reassured of your orthodoxy before I make my report to His Holiness. Perhaps we can work something out.' Tregaron backed away, trying to put distance between himself and the three priests. Vkandis' servants were under no obligation of celibacy, but hearing what amounted to extortion embarrassed him.

Solaris flushed, two spots of color forming high on her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak when a distant shout and pounding hooves drew their attention.

Tregaron, relieved at the distraction, trotted toward the regiment's standards. The mounted scout galloped down the line and reined in his horse with such savagery that stones and grit sprayed from beneath its hooves and flecks of foam flew from its lathered sides.

'Report!' Tregaron snapped, pleased to turn his attention to a problem he could handle.

'Cavalry, soir!' the scout replied, his upcountry accent emphasized by his stress. 'Two full regiments, soir, less'n half an hour north of here, 'an movin' toward us.'

Tregaron took a single deep breath, calming himself and giving him a moment to order his thoughts. 'Do they know we're here?'

The scout looked chagrined. 'Aye, more likely than not. We tripped over three o' their outriders while we was on our way back. We got two. The third gave us the slip.'

Tregaron sucked air though his teeth, a southlands expression of disapproval. 'Well,' he said, 'what's done is done.' He ignored the excited chatter as word of the approaching enemy made its way along infantry column. His staff clustered close, eager to hear the report. 'Did you see who they were?'

'One regiment had a boar's head mounted on a pole, soir, with ribbons hanging from its tushes. I din't see the second.'

'That would be Reglauf's lot,' Cogern said. 'He led a regiment under Ancar when they made their try against Valdemar. Word has it he didn't do much except plunder farms.'

It didn't occur to Tregaron to question Cogern. The sergeant was supposed to know such things. 'Word also has it,' the old man lisped, 'that he cut out early, before they'd properly lost.'

'How many troops?' Tregaron asked the scout.

The man pulled a string out of his tunic and counted the knots. 'Five battles, soir, about three hundred riders each. I'd guess about the same in the t'other regiment.'

'Three thousand cavalry,' Cogern spat, 'two-to-one, or thereabouts.'

'Just like Selenay in Valdemar,' Dormion chirped, earning a black look from Cogern. 'From the Battle of Border, in the Chronicles. Ancar had them two-to-one as well, and they whipped him.'

Cogern sighed, the air of man beset by fools.

The brat doesn't know when to shut up, Tregaron thought

Cogern growled something obscene and crooked his finger at Dormion. 'Come here, child. It's high time I took a personal interest in your education.'

Dormion swallowed heavily, his mobile features still. 'Um, Pikemaster ...' he began. He looked at Tregaron.

'You tickled the bear, Ensign,' Tregaron laughed. 'Now you dance with him.'

'Selenay,' Cogern said with heavy dignity as he ticked off points on his fingers, 'had the advantages of Mindspeaking Demon horses, superior terrain, time to pick her battlefield, better-trained troops, and Ancar for an opponent. Not to mention her troops were defending their homes and were backed by a substantial number of defectors, including Hardorn's best Guardsmen.'

He paused to switch hands, having long since run out of fingers. 'Ancar only had numbers. He needed at least three to one to beat her on open ground, and probably six to one to best them on that turf. He had, maybe, three to two, and most of them were rabble, not real soldiers a'tall. Hell, only about half his force even had the gumption to attack.'

He closed his fist an stuck it in Dormion's face. 'Ancar,' he finished, 'didn't have a prayer. So don't draw false comparisons, especially ones gleaned from books written by the winning side.' He exhaled heavily. 'Here endeth the sermon. Now get back to your units. All of you.'

The cadets scattered.

Tregaron looked at Cogern. 'Do you think he heard you?'

'Damn that Bard-written tripe,' the Pikemaster replied, 'Selenay could have held that hilltop with a company of recruits and a detachment of washerwomen. Demon horses, magic, and good writing don't make up for sound tactics and superior strategy.'

'I don't know,' Tregaron said, 'Selenay's done all right for herself, by all accounts.'

'Not you, too!' Cogern snapped, his expression torn

between shock and betrayal. He crossed his arms across his chest, muttering about tyros who read more books than was good for them. Tregaron, laughing, mounted his horse and scanned the field for a good place to make his stand.

'There's a shallow stream up ahead, soir,' the scout said, pointing. He had wisely kept his mouth shut while Cogern ranted. 'It's about five-hundred paces from here.'

'Do you want to form behind the water course?' Cogern asked, his voice and manner now all business.

Tregaron considered a moment before answering. 'No, I don't want to give them any excuse to go toward our flanks. A nice long feature like that might encourage them to get creative.'

'You're expecting them to come right for us?' Cogern asked in a neutral voice.

'Yes,' Tregaron answered. 'When Ancar assassinated his father, he put Alessander's generals to the sword as well He lost anybody he had with troop-handling skills, and the rabble he recruits aren't much for the discipline that goes with good tactics.' He smiled sourly. 'Not that they've needed it. They've been riding right over the local militia for a while now. I'm betting it's been a while since they've faced regulars. They'll go straight for our throats.'

He straightened his shoulders. 'We'll put the stream hard by our right and use it to anchor our flank on that side. We'll assume an open field defense and meet them in that high grass over there.' He pointed to the open area beside the streambed.

'All right,' Cogern said, turning to the cluster of runners and trumpeters, 'what are you waiting for?'

The staff members scattered to execute the orders. Horns blared. Under officers shouted as the lead battle, company by company, shifted their pikes and picked up a clumsy trot. The regiment's company of mounted skirmishers thundered past, their riders adjusting bows, quivers and heavy sacks. They disappeared in a trice over a low brow to contest the Hardornans' passage.

Tregaron knew a hundred archers weren't enough to stop the invaders by themselves, but he hoped they'd be enough of an irritant to make Reglauf deploy his forces prematurely.

The vanguard had just drawn even with the streamlet when a single horn blew in the distance. Tregaron followed the sound and saw a thin dust plume rising above the bluffs. 'That would be our guests,' Cogern said, his flat voice calm. Tregaron studied the thin brown column. Infantry dust tended to spread as it rose, making a ground-hugging haze rather than a rising tail. Yes, definitely cavalry.

He turned in his saddle to address the trumpeters. 'Play: Form line of battle—left.'

The horns skirled. Trumpeters farther down the line answered the calls, acknowledging the orders.

'Front Northwest!' Cogern shouted, his bass voice cutting the din. In such moments all hint of his lisp