By Heresies Distressed (57 page)

Cayleb's surrender to Clareyk's insistence that he had no place at the point of the spear had surprised Merlin more than a little. And, truth to tell, it had left him in two minds. On the one hand, he was delighted to get Cayleb back where he belonged. On the other hand, Cayleb's decision to leave
him
behind had made him feel undeniably uneasy. The rest of Cayleb's bodyguards, not to mention the cavalry company surrounding him, ought to be capable of dealing with anything the emperor might run into, but Merlin had already lost Cayleb's father. Whether that had been his fault or not, he still felt bitter regret every time he thought about King Haarahld's death, and he had no intention of feeling that way over
Cayleb's
death.

Then there's that
other
minor consideration
, he thought dryly as Clareyk concluded his brief conversation with Raizyngyr and headed for his horse.
I could wish I'd had a little more time to think about how I'd handle this situation. I'm not even sure whether all those glances in my direction meant what I thought they did or not
. He snorted suddenly in amusement.
Now, if I were still Nimue, I could think of another reason for him to've been doing that. And, truth to tell, he's cute enough I don't think I'd have minded it at all
. . . .

He managed not to smile as he watched the brigadier swing gracefully into the saddle. Unlike too many Marine officers, Clareyk obviously felt right at home on a horse's back as he fell easily into place beside Merlin's mount.

And he's got really nice buns, too
, Merlin thought.

“Now,
Seijin
Merlin,” Clareyk said, thankfully unaware of the
seijin
's appreciative thoughts, as the two of them started forward, followed at a respectful distance by Major Lahftyn and the other members of Clareyk's command group. “I believe you had something to say to me which you'd prefer no one else heard?”

Well, that answers
that
question, doesn't it
, “Seijin
Merlin”?
Merlin thought sardonically.

“I beg your pardon, Brigadier?” he said politely aloud.

“I realize I'm not really supposed to know this,
Seijin
,” Clareyk said with a crooked smile, “but I didn't spend that long working with you, the Emperor, and Baron Seamount without realizing you're considerably more than just one of the Emperor's bodyguards. Or even ‘just' a
seijin
who happens to know all sorts of interesting things, and have even more interesting ideas. I still remember how neatly you maneuvered
me
into suggesting the creation of the scout-snipers, for instance. And who it was who suggested the name for them. And I suppose I should go ahead and admit I've heard a few whispers of rumors about ‘visions' of yours. In fact, I've found myself wondering on occasion just how much of the Emperor's uncanny ability to predict what the enemy is likely to do stems from those visions you may or may not be having.”

Merlin managed not to wince, but only because he'd already suspected at least some of what was coming. He hadn't anticipated the
full
of it, however, and he found himself wondering if Clareyk was still holding back even more suspicions.

Well, you knew he was a smart man when you and Cayleb picked him to develop the new infantry tactics. It would appear he's even sharper than you'd realized, though, and sharp blades tend to nick fingers if you handle them carelessly. So I think it's about time you started handling this one the right way
.

“Brigadier,” he said, “obviously I can't go into all of that without the Emperor's permission. On the other hand, there's not much point pretending you aren't generally correct. I
do
have visions, of a sort, at least. And they have been quite useful to the Emperor—and to his father—on several occasions. Which, for obvious reasons, explains why all of us have been to some pains to prevent the rumors you referred to from getting any sort of broad circulation.”

“I can see why that would be, yes,” Clareyk agreed.

“Since you've figured out at least some of it, I suppose I should go ahead and tell you that while I can ‘see' many things, I can see neither the future nor the past—only the present. Obviously, even that much can sometimes provide a major advantage, but it means, for example, that I couldn't simply buff up my crystal ball—and, no, I don't
actually
use one—and tell Cayleb ahead of time what Gahrvai and Windshare would do when they found out we'd landed behind them.”

Clareyk pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded, and Merlin continued.

“Although I can't see the future, I can tell you Earl Windshare is assembling the better part of four thousand troopers about another two miles down the road from here. It's actually quite a good position from his perspective, and I believe he's counting on the terrain to keep you from realizing how close he is until you blunder into him.”

“Which presents a possible opportunity to carry out His Majesty's intentions,” Clareyk said thoughtfully.

“Yes, it does. But the place he's found gives him a much better chance of actually pressing home a charge than I think Cayleb wanted you to give him.”

“Maybe so. But if his position is that good, then if we can't entice him into charging, we'll be forced to stop, at least until Brigadier Haimyn can come up to support us. So it's either find a way to convince him to fight or else let him pin us down, possibly long enough for Gahrvai to get out of the trap.”

Merlin nodded, and Clareyk frowned pensively.

“Tell me more about this terrain Windshare's chosen,
Seijin
,” he said.

The Earl of Windshare frowned, listening carefully as rifle shots popped distantly on the other side of the crest line. They were coming steadily closer, and he hoped his forward pickets weren't taking too many casualties.

Damned rifles
, he thought resentfully.

He remembered his own incredulity at Haryl's Crossing when the rifles hidden in the woods had opened up on him. At first, he'd literally been unable to believe it was happening. No one could
possibly
shoot that far or that rapidly—the very idea had been unthinkable!

Unfortunately, the Charisians
could
. Windshare couldn't quite agree with Gahrvai's opinion that the new rifles were going to overturn all accepted battlefield tactics, just as their galleons had already overturned all accepted naval tactics, but even he had to admit the consequences were going to be profound. He wasn't prepared to assume they'd just made cavalry obsolete as a decisive arm, but he was honest enough to admit that at least part of that reluctance might be pure, bullheaded stubbornness on his part.

A war in which cavalry was reduced solely to a scouting force, capable of occasional hit-and-run raids but helpless against any unshaken infantry position? Nonsense. Ridiculous! Unthinkable! Yet vehemently as Windshare had rejected the notion, he couldn't free himself of a gnawing suspicion that Gahrvai had a point.

Even at an extended gallop, a typical cavalryman could cover less than five hundred yards in a minute. Against slow-firing smoothbore matchlocks, with a maximum effective range of no more than a hundred yards, that meant musketeers would have time for only a single shot each before the horsemen were on top of them. But these damned Charisian rifles fired four or five times as rapidly as matchlocks, and to four or five times the effective range. Which was the reason the skirmishers deployed to screen the oncoming infantry columns were able to keep Windshare's scouts at a distance. By the same token, the skirmishers had to stay close enough to their columns to fall back on them if they were threatened by a cavalry charge, but the ability of an
infantry
force to move virtually at will, even in the presence of superior numbers of cavalry, seemed like a perversion to an old-school trooper like Windshare.

Well, Koryn may have a point
, Windshare granted unwillingly.
I still think he's overreacting to what happened at Haryl's Crossing, but I'm willing to admit I could be wrong about that. Even if I am, though, those bastards don't have a single pikeman. If they'll just come close enough
. . .

“My Lord.”

Windshare shook himself up out of his introspection as Galvahn trotted up beside him.

“Yes, Naithyn?”

“They have two battalions on this side of the woodline. Another is just beginning to emerge, but they've allowed the marching interval between it and the other two to widen to over three hundred yards.”

“They have?” Windshare's eyes brightened, and Galvahn smiled.

“Yes, My Lord. And their lead battalion is heading straight towards us. Our pickets are falling back in front of it as you instructed. That's the firing you can hear.” He twitched his head in the direction of the whip-crack rifle shots. “They've kept the range open, too, just like they were supposed to, and we haven't lost very many men. We've got over a dozen horses down, but I think we've only had two or three
men
hit.”

“Good!” Windshare slapped his gauntlets against his thigh. “Good, Naithyn!”

The earl climbed back into his own saddle and looked around at his staff.

“Gentlemen, I believe it's time we discouraged these people,” he said.

Merlin Athrawes found himself hoping Brigadier Clareyk wasn't being overconfident.

His two lead battalions—Colonel Zhanstyn's First Battalion and Colonel Raizyngyr's Second Battalion, which together made up the Third Brigade's First Regiment—marched straight along the royal highway towards Green Valley in time with the battalion pipers and with rifles slung. Although their battle casualties had been ludicrously low, sickness and injury had reduced both battalions from a nominal strength of five hundred men each to a combined total of just over eight hundred. Which, for any animal-powered army Nimue Alban had ever studied, was an incredibly low sick rate. Traditionally, back on Old Earth, especially in preindustrial armies, attrition from illness had vastly exceeded combat losses. It hadn't been until the period of World War I that deaths from enemy action had actually outnumbered deaths from disease, but “the Archangel Pasquale's” teachings had produced a level of hygiene and preventive health measures which created a very different situation here on Safehold.

None of which changed the fact that Zhanstyn and Raizyngyr were outnumbered by roughly five-to-one by the cavalry waiting just on the far side of the hill.

Merlin glanced at Clareyk as the brigadier rode along, seemingly without a care in the world. He'd stayed with Zhanstyn's command group, and if he was particularly concerned about Windshare, his expression showed absolutely no sign of it.

The Earl of Windshare sat in his saddle watching his retreating cavalry pickets withdraw up the hillside towards him exactly as Major Galvahn had described. The long, gradual slope behind them was dotted with the bodies of dead and wounded horses who'd obviously been brought down by the skirmishers moving fifty or sixty yards in advance of the main infantry column, but he saw only a very few human bodies out among them.