Warlord

Well, I'm gentry now. Of sorts; his sons would be Messer-class. . Keep yer mind on business, ye butthead, he told himself. The dogs moved off, paws almost silent in the deep soft dust of the road, spaced out to ten-meter intervals. Messer Raj's business. A shooting Star of a man, and if you hitched your cart to his harness he'd draw you along. Or you'd go over with him in a crash.

M'lewis smiled into the warm summer night. They were coming up on a hut, and lantern-light leaked through the warped shutters.

'Dicinsyn, Felodez,' he whispered. 'Around the rear. No killin'.' Time to find out some local news, then on to that well the map marked.

* * *

'Yer map's not bad, but sommat incomplete, ser,' Antin M'lewis said. 'Anyways, no concentration of barb sojers anywhere within three hours' ride. Hardly spotted a man under arms; no Squadrones t' speak of.'

'Bring that lantern over here!' Raj called over his shoulder. The landing was going surprisingly well, considering that it was night and there was a moderately stiff onshore breeze. At least the transports had not had to tack their way in.

The coal-oil lamp was the bull's-eye type; Raj took it and clicked open the shutter to illuminate the map. M'lewis crouched. He had burnt cork on his face and hands, and a black bandanna around his head. The map was copied from originals more than a century and a half old. The gross terrain features would be there, but the most valuable parts of the Ordinance Survey, the houses and field-boundaries and woods, would have changed drastically.

'Thisshere ridge'-his finger pointed inland, to their west-'don't have the houses over the edge what's marked, ser. Jist a couple'a huts. I got two, three men in each. Land over t'ridge is all split up inta little fields croppers work fer th' barbs. I got a couple, they talkin' pretty free. Don't love them barbs, nohow. Then here'-he touched a spot marked with the symbol for an inn-''tis a village now. Mondain by name. 'Bout two hundred houses, rubble wall shoulder high. Not hardly no problem. Some militia; we kin take it an' use it fer a base right off, yer gives the word, Messer Raj.'

Raj thought, turning again to look at the bay. With both moons down, the night was pitch-black, and the beach was milling chaos. Lights darted back and forth on the water, and he could see a dull red glow from the funnel of a steamer, but the running lights of the vessels were out by his order. This was far too close to Port Murchison for safety; only twenty-five kilometers, one day's forced march and less than that for a ship. As he watched another transport ghosted in, the long rumbling crunch of its keel bedding in the sand ending in a louder crackle as its prow struck a ship already ashore. There were yells of fury ending in the thwack of a rope's end on a bare back, and the moaning whimper of a frightened dog.

'No,' he said. 'First things first; we'll get this sorted out.' He leaned forward and slapped the little ferret-faced man on the shoulder. 'Good man. Excellent work.' He looked up. 'Captain! How many of your company ashore?'

Foley stopped in mid-stride. 'All of them, sir,' he said. 'Gerrin's in the next boat; we've got about half the dogs in. Bloody hell getting them over the rail in the dark.'

'Good; get two platoons up on the ridge. There are some of the Scouts in those two hovels on the ridge. Relieve them, get up there, and lay me out a perimeter defense. I'll feed men up as they arrive. Now, M'lewis. What I want you and your scouts to do is get me some farmers. And their wagons; collect them, tell them they'll be paid-no, pay them, for whatever spare supplies they'll bring in.'

'Already done, Messer Raj; figgered we couldn't nohow leave 'em t' run off to the barbs after they'd seen us.'

'Good. Put a dozen wagons aside-'

Menyez came by, with a pair of infantry battalion-commanders in tow. 'Sir,' he said. 'It's going according to plan, but Dinnalsyn says we can forget about the guns until tomorrow or until we can get the floating pier up, whichever comes first.'

'Fine. That transport?'

'Rock under the sand; broke her spine. Hopeless.'

'There's some good in everything; get some fatigue-parties breaking her up for fuel. Warm or not, I want the men dry; dig fire-pits, no big blazes.'

'Sir!'

Raj turned back to M'lewis '-and leave them half-full. Fodder, for choice, hay, anything like that.' He gave the map a last glance and stood, considering. Men with banners were forming up on the beach, a few hundred meters between each, calling-

'3rd Chongwe! 3rd Chongwe!'

'88th Seyval! 88th Seyval!'

Out of sight of his men for a moment, Raj rubbed his temples, his knuckles rapping against the rim of his helmet. The landing was a complete ratfuck. A thousand Squadron cavalry-the personal retainers of a single major landowner-could slash the force into bloody windrows at the edge of the surf.

How are we doing, Center? Raj thought bitterly.

better than expected, Center replied.

Raj stiffened in surprise; the machine voice sounded almost jovial.

if the enemy reacts perfectly, both in making a plan on the basis of statistically-insignificant intelligence and in execution of that plan, then they could successfully attack us tonight. in that case, i will begin to believe in a god myself. A pause, perhaps a heartbeat long. theirs.

More than half the 5th had already gathered around their standard; he came up to it himself just in time to see Gerrin Staenbridge wading up from the surf, sopping water from head to foot and sneezing.

'Evening, Raj,' he said cheerfully. 'Stepped out of the boat into a bloody sinkhole.'

They slapped palms. 'Glad to see you. As soon as the next wave of men and dogs are ashore, take the 5th inland to the ridge; Foley's setting up there. Dig in, and push out some patrols, men who won't fall over their feet in the dark. M'lewis has supplies and wagons coming in; I want everyone who can to have a hot meal and at least a couple of hours' sleep. I'll send some infantry up, relieve you eventually. Staff meeting one hour before dawn.'

'Got it,' Staenbridge said. Then he looked beyond Raj's shoulder. 'Ah, Messa Suzette. More radiant than ever,' he said.

Raj turned; Suzette was in her riding clothes, linen and leather looking stained with salt

'You flatter, Gerrin.'

'Not in the least,' Staenbridge said; he smiled warmly and raised the extended hand to his lips for a brief moment. 'Not being as blinded as most men by the exterior, I can see better within.'

Some of the rest of the household came up behind her. Fatima first; the nurse and her son were back on the ship, until the beachhead was secure. She had a cork-insulated flask in her hands, and began pouring cups for Suzette and the Companions.

'Ahh, nectar,' Raj said; it was hot black kave, sweet and with a dash of brandy. The Southern Territories were dry enough that even an early-summer night could be chilly, and there was a sea breeze.

Fatima handed cups to the others; Mekkle Thiddo came up, his boots sloshing, and passed his clipboard to Raj.

'Gerrin,' she said, with a mock pout. 'How come you kiss her hand and not mine?'

'Because, mother of my son, you are an imp and she is a very great lady. Sahud!' he finished, raising his cup.

'Health,' they replied.

'Where's our good Administrator?' Raj went on, looking over the papers Thiddo had handed him. 'Outstanding, Thiddo. All right, bivouac them. One company up to the ridge; Gerrin will assign the sectors.'

A fleeting hardness went across Suzette's face as she shrugged and answered her husband. 'Still puking his guts out on the flagship, while Admiral Ghardineri runs around looking at the sky and tearing out his hair,' she said. Then she smiled and took a deep breath of the damp, chilly air. 'It's much nicer here.'

Raj threw back his head and laughed. The stars were very clear through the gaps in the clouds. Suddenly he felt bright, almost transparent, at the cusp of a moment more rare than diamonds.

'A night landing in a high wind, on hostile soil, with a battle to fight tomorrow. Not enough sleep, or intelligence. . maybe all the Squadron's hosts roaring down on us.'