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remarked on that, Smitty shook his head. "He wasn't too worn out to keep
Corliss from sneaking in there," he said.
"What?" Rollant sat up, though every joint ached. "I didn't see that."
"Things happen whether you see them or not," Smitty said with a superior
sniff.
"I know," Rollant answered. "Badthings are liable to happen on account of
this." He glanced over at Hagen. As long as the escaped serf was busy dishing
out supper, he might not have time to worry about where his wife had gone. For
everyone's sake, Rollant hoped he wouldn't.
When Captain Cephas didn't emerge from the tent, Lieutenant Griff ordered
sentries out. "We have to stay alert," he said. "The traitors might
counterattack." Rollant didn't believe it the northerners were beaten men
tonight but he recognized the possibility. He also let out a long sigh of
relief when Sergeant Joram didn't call his name. Making the most of the
opportunity, he wrapped himself in his blanket and fell asleep.
He wouldn't have been surprised had Joram shaken him awake in the middle of
the night to take someone's place on sentry-go. Getting jerked from sleep by a
woman's shriek, though, took him back to the bad days on Baron Ormerod's
estate, when Ormerod had enjoyed himself among the blond girls as he pleased.
For a moment, Rollant lay frozen. Back on the estate, he hadn't dared
interfere. Few blonds did, and they all paid. But he wasn't on the estate,
wasn't a serf, any more. A man's cry no, two men's cries rang out with the
woman's. Rollant knew exactly where he was then, and feared he knew exactly
what had happened. A cry of dismay on his own lips, he sprang to his feet and
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dashed toward Captain Cephas' tent.
Hagen burst out through the tent flap. He held a butcher knife, but hardly
seemed to know it. He took a couple of stumbling steps, then fell on his face.
Captain Cephas' sword stuck out of his back.
Cephas himself came out a moment later. "I got him," he said, and then
something else, but the blood pouring from his mouth kept Rollant from
understanding what. Cephas' left hand was clasped to his undershirt, the only
garment he was wearing. He swayed, said one more clear word "Corliss" and
crumpled as Hagen had before him.
"Oh, by the gods," Smitty said from behind Rollant, and set a hand on his
shoulder. "Looks like you were right."
"I wish I'd been wrong," Rollant said. "Is she still in the tent?"
Smitty went inside before anyone else could. Rollant heard him gulp. "She's
in here," he said, and his voice wobbled. "Hagen almost took her head off with
that knife." He came out in a hurry, bent over, and was noisily sick. He
might he surely had seen worse in battle. But you expected such things in
battle. Here, after the victory was won . . .
"It takes the edge off," Rollant said. "It does more than that, in fact." He
gulped, too, though he hadn't gone into the tent. What was outside was bad
enough.
Smitty spat, swigged from his canteen, and spat again. "It does for us," he
said. "But if you think the generals will care, you're daft." Rollant thought
that over. Reluctantly, he nodded.
* * *
General Bart folded his right hand into a fist and smote his left palm, as
much of a gesture of excitement as he ever allowed himself. The sun rose on as
complete a triumph as the southron cause had seen in some time. He nodded to
Doubting George, who was also just emerging from his pavilion. "Good morning,
Lieutenant General. Now that we've whipped the northerners, let's see if we
can run the legs off them and break their whole army to pieces."
"I wouldn't mind that at all," George said. "When General Guildenstern forced
Thraxton the Braggart out of Rising Rock, he let him retreat, because he was
sure Thraxton would run all the way up to Marthasville. He found out
differently by the River of Death."
"Well, that's two lessons for us," Bart said.
"Two?" Doubting George asked.
"Yes, two," Bart replied. "The first is, pursue vigorously. The second is,
keep your eyes open while you're doing it." He watched George consider that
and nod. He would have been disappointed had the other officer done anything
else. And he said what needed saying: "Congratulations to you and your men.
They were the ones who cracked the Braggart's position and let us win our
victory."
"Thank you very much, sir." George grinned wryly. "I would take more credit
for it if I'd actually given the order that sent my men up the slope of
Proselytizers' Rise, but thank you all the same. I do take no little pride in
what my men accomplished, no matter who gave that order."
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"If anyone did," Bart said. "Whoever he was, he's proved remarkably shy about
coming forward and taking the credit for it." He hesitated, then went on, "Not
to take anything away from whoever it was, or from you, or from your
undoubtedly brave men, but Colonel Phineas gives me to understand that part of
the credit for our victory and the traitors' defeat also goes to Count
Thraxton for making a hash of a spell at just the wrong time."
"Yes, my mages told me the same thing," Lieutenant General George replied.
"We hoped it would happen in the heat of battle, and it did."
"Give Thraxton the chance to make a mistake or make a man dislike him and he
will take it more often than not," Bart said. He turned to a blond servant
hurrying up with a tray. "Yes? What is it?"
"Your breakfast, sir." The servant sounded surprised he needed to ask. "Just [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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