Warlord

pressured like harvesting, either. A well-thatched stack would keep the grain safe for half a year, rain or no, so you threshed it a bit at a time, as the other demands of the land allowed. A few of the best-managed estates near East Residence had simple ox-powered threshing machines-more of an affectation than anything, with labor so cheap- but such would be unknown here. They had all seen signs of neglect on the march, old irrigation channels allowed to silt, fields left to grow back in ruddy native scrub. Yet the Southern Territories still exported grain in most years, apart from the odd dearth or famine such as any area suffered, so reserves must be low.

'So,' Raj finished gently, 'it's easy to support a moving army-there was a reason for attacking this time of year, Major-but even the Squadron leaders aren't going to cram fifty or sixty thousand people and thirty thousand dogs into a city living on what's left of last year's yield. Not when they think their mighty warriors can crush our little band; after all, they won last time, didn't they?'

Dalhouse was silent for a moment. 'Sir-what if you're wrong?'

'This isn't a safe profession, you know. If I'm wrong, we all die. And now, Messers, I think we should attend to the men.'

* * *

'Spirit, Raj, you could have fired a locomotive by sticking Messer Bloody Dalhouse in the boiler and letting the steam coming out of his ears do the work,' Kaltin Gruder said.

A guffaw ran around the table in the command tent. All the Companions were there, and Ehwardo Poplanich- it suddenly occurred to Raj that he might be sliding into that category too. Poor bastard. They were sitting Colonist-style on cushions around a wicker table; a sauroid somebody's men had shot was the centerpiece, a local biped grazer about man-size, with a head like a sheep and a feathered ruff around its neck. It had been baked in a temporary earth-oven with strips of bacon over the back, and the crackling skin had covered succulent flaky white meat, ranging to brown on the haunches. Bowls of new potatoes swimming in butter flanked it, with fresh piles of fresh flatbread and olives and a salad of greens; the main course had been reduced to hacked remnants, and they were all leaning back with fruit and cheese and another glass of the local wine. The whole army was living well, from plundered storehouses, or what they bought from the peasants with plundered goods. The main supply problem was keeping the men from getting their hands on too much booze, which they would drink if they could.

It's a bloody military picnic, so far, Raj thought. None of the Companions expected it to last, of course. . but there was no use borrowing grief beforehand when you knew it was coming down the pike. M'lewis seemed mostly concerned about his table manners at a Messer-class gathering, fairly futile since most of the others were resting their boots on the table or spearing bits out of bowls with their daggers.

Gruder, M'lewis, and Tejan M'brust had brought along the girls Reggiri had given them. Joni, Mitchi, and Karli, of Stalwart stock captured young; they all spoke Sponglish and had been given a social education. Fatima was there as well. She and Barton were throwing clandestine peach-pits at each other across a recumbent and indulgent- looking Staenbridge. It reminded Raj that young Foley was still a little shy of eighteen. It also reminded him that Suzette was not there; she was dining with Berg and his cronies. Berg's feathers had come unruffled since Stern Isle; Berg was seeing less of Dalhouse, and Dalhouse and Berg together had far too much pull at Court. .

To the Starless Dark with it.

'Come on, Mekkle,' he said to the young Descotter; Mekkle Thiddo was silent, looking at an opened locket. His wife of one year was back in the County, pregnant according to the latest letter, that having been suspected but uncertain when he left. 'You're the honeymooner-give us Road to Santanerr.' Ehwardo looked a little alarmed; that was a very old tune in the Civil Government's army, and officially strictly forbidden. Then he shrugged.

'Hole, Mekkle-start us off!' he yelled, leaning back and loosening his collar.

Well, at least here Ehwardo gets to relax without looking under the rug for Barholm's spies, Raj acknowledged. Even if the life-expectancy of Companions was not very good.

'Hadelande, dhude!' Gerrin called. Go for it, youngster! He reclined sultanic on a pile of the cushions, with a head on each shoulder.

Thiddo grinned and ducked a half-eaten apricot. 'On your own heads-and eardrums,' he said, and threw back his head to sing in a strong young baritone:

'When I left home for Lola's sake-

By the Army road to Santanerr

She vowed her heart was mine to take

With me and my sword to Santanerr

Till our banners flew from Santanerr-

And I've tramped the desert-and Sandoral

And the Diva's banks where the snow-flakes fall

As white as the smile of Lola-

As cold as the heart of Lola!

And I've lost the desert, and Sandoral,

And I've lost home and worst of all,

I've lost Lola!'

From his place at the head of the table Raj could see down to the west gate of the camp, and north along the coast road. From the edge of sight northward a shuttered lantern blinked. That was where the main cavalry picket guarded the approach from the north; from Port Murchison, among other places. Party-escort- embassy-truce flag, he read. The gate acknowledged: Proceed. Two lights glowed, bobbing as the embassy rode southward with a squad of the cavalry to guard them. It was probably some Squadron noble looking to save his skin. Amazing how these pirates turned meek when the devastation showed up on their own doorsteps. Old Admiral Geyser Ricks, the conqueror of the Southern Territories, must be spinning in his marble-and-gold mausoleum.

They all joined in:

'When you go by the Cantina Bellica

As thousands have travelled before,

Remember the Luck of the Soldier

Who never saw home any more!

Oh, dear was the lover who kissed him

And dear was the mother that bore;

But then they found his sword in the heather,

And he never saw home any more!'

The torches reached the gate, and paused for challenge and response. They spurred up the long shallow incline, up the main cross-avenue of the camp to the open space before the commander's tent. Raj raised an eyebrow; they were cantering at least. Something must have impressed them, and Civil Government regular cavalry were generally not easily impressed by barbs. The troopers pacing guard outside the open tent door were fighting back grins; the song everyone inside was roaring out was a flogging offense, officially-and the next verse was the reason. No Governor liked it, especially the ones who shot their way onto the Chair:

'When you go by the Cantina Bellica

from the City to Sandoral,

Remember the Luck of the Soldier

Who rose to be master of all!

He carried the rifle and saber,

He stood his watch and rode tall,

Till the Army hailed him Governor

And he rose to be master of all!'

A jingling and flash of bright metal in the square; he could see the dark forms of the Regulars around the jewel and gold brightwork of the barbarians. The officer of the guard ducked into the tent and bent to talk to Muzzaf Kerpatik. Raj raised his glass in an ironic toast; he had given the Komarite the job of compiling a list of Squadron notables. He had done it with smooth efficiency, drawing on his commercial contacts; right now he looked more interested in staring sideways at Joni, M'lewis's new concubine. She was leaning back on one elbow in a way that did interesting things with the front of her sheer linen blouse. . Duty calls, he