Kingdom River

Wilkey had gone back to his company, reluctant to leave Sam guarded by only a half-dozen.

From one height, Howell pointing, Sam could see over bare treetops to the Kipchak camp – sprawled, as his army was sprawled, across country too rough for regularity. An imperial far-looking glass cold against his eye, he thought he made out the Khan's yurt, bulky and bannered in a town of lesser shelters. By fire smokes, by men's movements across white snow, by horse lines that could be seen, the camp looked to hold perhaps twelve, perhaps fifteen thousand men.

'All Greats,' Sam said, his breath frost-clouding, 'bless the Boxcars and their Queen.'

'Yes.' Howell took the glass. He began, by old habit, to put it to his black-patched socket, then held it to his right eye and peered out across the hills. 'Or we'd have thirty thousand of the fuckers to fight.'

Sam had been… not startled, perhaps saddened to have noticed Howell, Ned, Phil Butler, and the others seeming older now than when he'd left them only weeks before. He supposed that he looked older, too, the price of large matters being dealt with.

Howell slid the glass shut into itself and handed it back. 'How do you want to go about this, Sam?'

'To begin with, let's get warmer.'

… Sitting on his locker, Sam envied Toghrul the big yurt. His canvas tent was cramped, packed with commanders sitting on his cot or camp-stools, with their silent second-in-commands: Carlo Petersen, Horacio Duran, Teddy Baker and Michael Elman, standing or kneeling behind them. And all smelling of sweat, leather, horse, and oiled steel. It was not a restful space, though warm enough now, with crowding.

'First, I want to thank Phil, and the army, for a brilliant march up through Map-Louisiana, Map-Arkansas.'

'I had to hurry, Sam.' Butler had brought only one dog on campaign; rat-sized, brown-spotted, it peered from his parka's pocket. ' – That Boston girl was impossible. One more week, I'd have hanged her.'

'No,' Howell said, 'I'd have hanged her.'

'A wonderful march of infantry,' Sam said, 'and, Howell, a perfect move east. Not a trooper lost coming over from Map-Fort Stockton.'

'Luck, Sam.'

'No. Not luck. Charmian, how was the Bend border when you pulled your people out?'

'Busy.' Charmian Loomis had a rich, sweet singer's voice, sounding oddly from someone so lean, dark, and grim. 'They had a very good commander come down with them – not Cru-san; better than Crusan. If he'd had a couple of thousand more people, it would have been a problem.'

'But as it was?'

Colonel Loomis considered. 'As it was, it was… busy, but not a problem. We killed them at night, usually. And left… oh, perhaps eleven, twelve hundred still riding that whole territory, trampling farmers' starting-frames. Just good practice for our people down there.'

' 'Good practice,' ' Ned said. 'You terrifying creature.'

Colonel Loomis smiled at him – a rare event for her. She'd always seemed to like Ned, so much her opposite in every way but soldiering. Sam had wondered, as had others, if there might be a match there, someday. An odd match, to be sure. Lightness and darkness.

'This is my first day back. Tell me about the Khan.'

'Sir, his dispositions – '

'I know how his army lies, Charmian; I've seen it, seen your map. I meant… what do your people feel about that army.'

'They're careless,' Charmian said.

'Careless?'

'Yes, sir – as if they have no doubt they'll win. Their patrolling is alert, but not aggressive.'

'Right,' Ned said. 'They don't push. Just run regular patrols, keep in touch with our people.'

'And on our flanks?'

'Nothing much. More… a little more activity at the base of our main ridge, Sam.'

'Just a little more,' Charmian said. 'We've got high ground here, running up to all five ridges, though the west ridge is lowest. They seem interested in Main Ridge, and the rise to the left of it, but they're still willing to let my people hold those slopes. No contesting.'

'No contesting… And nothing much on the flanks at all.'

'That's right, Sam,' Howell said. 'And it's strange, because he brought those people south like a rock slide. Came down through Map-Missouri very fast.'

'They overran two of my patrols.' Ned tapped the curve of his steel hook against the tent's pole. 'Killed them.'

'So,' Sam said, 'in a hurry, then; but now… not in such a hurry.'

'I'd say,' – Butler had his little dog out on his lap, was stroking it – 'I'd say he intends to move very decisively. Whatever feints he may or may not use, he'll drive his main attack all the way. Don't think he means to toy with us at all, no two or three days counter-marching for advantage.'

Howell nodded. 'I agree.'

'Flanking,' Sam said, 'has always been their way.'

'A good reason for him not to do it,' Ned said. 'Good reason for him to go for the center.'

'He already lost,' Butler scratching his little dog's belly, ' – or his general lost, that battle in the north. First really serious defeat for them. Bound to take that into account, dealing with us.'

'Yes,' Sam said. 'So, a decisive move, not a drawn-out piecemeal battle that might leave some of our army intact, even losing. It's a temptation to attack him – last thing he'd expect, an attack tonight.'

Some apprehension in his officers' faces.

' – But this position is so perfect for defense.' Sam smiled at their relief. 'Now, if he goes for our flank, it will be a hook to our left. Attacking to our right, he takes a chance of being caught between us and a possible sortie by Kingdom troops from the river. So, if it's flanking, it will be to the west.'

'Country over there's not much different, Sam.' Ned shook his head. 'No advantage for horsemen.'

'But less chance of a disaster for him, than in a direct engagement up the middle.'

'Less chance of a decisive victory for him, too,' Howell said. 'I think he intends to wipe us out, then go for the river down here and ride north into the Kingdom. Bluebirds say it's freezing fast.'

'Yes,' Sam said, ' – it is. But win or lose, we won't leave him enough men alive to do Jack Shit.'

'I've read that one,' Ned said. 'That's a good one. 'Jack Shit.' That's very good.'

'So…' Butler put his dog back into his parka pocket, and stood. 'How do you want us?'

Sam sat silent, eyes closed, picturing the army as it lay across wooded hills and hollows. Picturing the draws, wooded and deep in snow, stretching away north to the Kipchak army… For Toghrul to attack there, to come directly at him that way, was to sacrifice his men in the hope of swift and overwhelming victory. Taking a great, almost desperate, chance.

In 'his mind's eye' – wonderful old phrase – Sam saw them coming. Dismounted, of course. At least, he would dismount them. Thousands of short, tough men with hard-hitting bows and curved yataghans. But not trained infantry, not really comfortable off their horses… And all remembering that half their tumans now lay dead, north on the river's ice.

'I think… a flank attack to the west is more likely. He can always regain his balance, if he's beaten trying that.'

'My people stay in the center?'

'Yes, Phil, Heavy Infantry stays on the center ridges. And no reserves. Bring everything up on the line.'

'I disapprove of that.'

'And very sensibly. But do as you're told.'

Butler sighed, and strolled out into the snow, Duran behind him. They could hear him shouting for a dispatch- rider to take orders. 'Is there a fucking man on a horse?!'

'Speaking of men on horses,' Ned said, 'where do you want the cavalry?'

'I want them – want you – to do two things at once.'

'Nothing new.'