Warlord

'Well?' he said.

'General Whitehall is a very able man,' Tzetzas murmured, riffling a file of papers. 'Even Gharderini's report concedes a smashing victory over the Squadron army. Very able. .' He spread his hands; the dangers of extremely able commanders were never far from a Governor's mind.

'Well, we certainly can't panic on the report of a spiteful little backstabber like Dalhouse,' Lady Anne said.

She glared at Tzetzas; the feud between them was old and bitter, running back to her childhood as a dancer down in the stews. Tzetzas had been her client then, in the years before she met and captivated the rising star of Barholm Clerett. Most men would have flinched before that gaze; the Chancellor merely smiled thinly and inclined his head in a show of deference as she went on:

'Either Raj Whitehall is loyal or he isn't-Lady Whitehall certainly is, and she's proved it. We can't do anything until we receive unbiased reports.'

'The matter needs more thought,' Barholm said, biting his lip. 'We'll-'

'Good riddance,' Raj said, shaking away the vision. 'Major Gruder, I approve of your actions; the last thing we need right now is a major battle among ourselves. In the unlikely event that we see those swine again. . Captain Foley'-Gerrin's friend was the most scholarly of them-'draw up formal charges of mutiny, theft, and attempted murder against them all; we'll forward it to headquarters.'

'And now,' he went on, 'back to work.'

Chapter Fifteen

'No, I'm not going to the pen-pushing bastard's party,' Kaltin Gruder said, rising on one elbow. The servants had cleared the remains of the picnic lunch away, all except for the stone jugs of lemonade and thrice-watered wine. He sipped moodily at his. 'Neither is Raj, you'll see.'

'I really don't see what you've got against Berg,' Gerrin Staenbridge said, leaning back against the oak tree and linking his fingers behind his head.

It was a comfortably warm summer's day, with the breeze off the sea; the headland park they had chosen was the highest land inside the walls, once a nobleman's pleasance, now the 5th's headquarters bivouac. Two weeks in Port Murchison had seen them well settled in, enough that the officers could take an hour or two for lunch. The air smelled of sea and warm grass, and he felt pleasantly drowsy, amused at the bitter passion in the other man's voice.

The rest of the picnic party were farther down the hill. Raj Whitehall was on all fours, with toddler Barton Staenbridge riding on his back and crowing delightedly; Hadolfo Zahpata crouched and gibbered in front of him, giving a remarkably accurate imitation of an arborosauroid. Barton Foley and Ehwardo Poplanich were lying on the rugs scattered under the jacaranda tree, singing to Suzette's gittar while Muzzaf kept time with a spoon on his knee. Pehdro Belagez and Hermano Suharto were doing slow-time fencing with wooden sabers in front of a wildly enthusiastic audience composed of Fatima and her new friends, Joni, Mitchi, and Karli. The three girls from Stern Island had turned out to be sisters, and they had all adopted Fatima as mentor.

'Berg should keep his hands off other men's wives,' Kaltin spat.

Gerrin abandoned his abstract enjoyment of the four young women jumping up and down as they squealed and clapped-it reminded him of flowers swaying, especially given the varying hair colors-and turned wide eyes on the younger cavalry officer.

'Please,' he said in a choked voice. 'Tell me I didn't just hear the Rooster of East Residence, the Stud of Descott County, the man who's fought three duels over married women in the past year, say-' His coughing turned into helpless whoops of laughter.

Kaltin struggled and gave in to a sour grin, shrugging. 'Well, that's different,' he said, turning his own gaze on the fencers. Redheaded Karli blew him a kiss. He smiled briefly, then continued with a frown: 'There's Raj's honor to consider.'

Gerrin shook his head, pulling a handkerchief out of the sleeve of the uniform jacket next to him and mopping at his streaming eyes.

'You mehmacho types,' he said, 'just don't appreciate women.'

It was Kaltin's turn to stare round-eyed. 'Apart from the part between navel and knees,' Staenbridge amplified. 'And you might remember that Berg's testimony may very well be all that stands between us and the frying post when we get back.' He sighed. 'Not to mention putting Dalhouse there, where he belongs.'

'Endfile to that,' Gruder said; his hand stroked the hilt of his sword. 'Although I'd prefer to see him get what that traitor Saylazar got.'

Staenbridge grimaced; the evidence had been fairly damning, but he was still surprised that Raj had ordered the merchant impaled. He looked over; the General was bucking, with Barton Staenbridge's hands wound in his hair and heels drumming on his ribs. There were a few threads of silver in the thick black curls. . and Ferteryo Saylazar was still alive that morning on the steps of the Palace, standing straddled over the sharpened stake rammed up through his anus. A strong man could survive three, perhaps four days on a short stake.

'I'd rather shoot Dalhouse in the back and be done with it,' Gerrin said. 'And speaking of sneak assassins, have you heard what M'lewis found?'

'Ah-ha.' Kaltin shook off lesser matters. 'The Admiral?'

'Might be. In which case. .'

'Battalion sweeps,' Gruder said happily. 'Hi! O Great Leader!'

Raj stood, holding the squirming child under one arm while he dusted himself off with the other. Fatima reclaimed her son amid a cooing crowd of her three protegees; the fencers came drifting over too, arms over each other's shoulders. Belagez had been very fond of Mekkle Thiddo, and anyone who tried to arrest the man who betrayed him was a blood-brother, even if he did now command the 17th Cuirassiers.

'Who gets the first rip-and-run at the Admiral's beard?' Gruder asked.

'Well-' Raj began, and froze. The others turned at his expression, to see the heliograph on the topmost tower of the Vice Governor's palace clicking out its sun-bright flickers.

'Confirm please,' Gerrin read. As one, they all pivoted to watch the eastern horizon; the hill was nearly as high as the tower, and they could all see the reply from the warship stationed at the edge of visibility.

'Multiple-sails-stop-estimate +40-stop-approaching-northwest-stop-Squadron-galleys-and-transports-stop- am-heading-in-stop-estimate enemy will arrive two hours minimum four maximum. End.'

Four voices whispered it aloud. Seconds later the women and child were alone on the hill, staring after the soldiers.

Barton Staenbridge began to cry.

* * *

'Bloody hell, bloody hell,' Raj said, squinting up the dockside street.

Port Murchison rose on low rolling ground from the water it enclosed on three sides. Like most cities originally laid out in the Civil Government, it was built on a partial grid plan; most of the waterfront was cut off by three- and four-story warehouses, there were tangles of alleys in parts, but the major streets ran more-or-less straight up from the water.

And on one of them, a barricade of wagons was visible. 'Runner!' Raj said. 'Message to whoever's in command up there, get those wagons into a side street and keep them there until the word's given.

'You,' he went on, jabbing a finger at the harbormaster as the messenger clapped heels to his dog. 'You've got the tugs ready?'

'Say, Messenor,' he replied in nervous Spanjol: Yes, my lord.

They were tubby little vessels, with ten two-man oars to a side and a raised catwalk; a tiny lazaretto stood under the wheel at the stern. Two more just like them were towing the final Civil Government steam ram into the inner military harbor; the bosuns danced down the catwalk swinging their ropes' ends, and the oars splashed with haste. Low smoke showed over the stone forts, as the remaining six warships made steam in there; no help for