Rally Cry (26 page)

The outriders wore heavy chain mail. Their helmets were red-lacquered, atop each of them a grinning human skull. The nargas and drums thundered and roared, echoing and reechoing across the square.

"Get down, both of you!" Kal hissed, lying on the ground. "You'll be shot if you don't."

He had never knelt to anyone in his life, but this time Emil could fully see the logic of it, and he went down on his belly, pulling
Ferguson alongside.

The procession came to the middle of the square. Thundering to a crescendo, the nargas blasted a final chilling roar, and then there was silence.

"Arise, people of the Rus!"

Emil came to his feet, his blood running cold. The Tugar riding upon the platform stood above them, his robes fluttering in the breeze. Looking closer, Emil recoiled in horror. The robes were made of tanned human skin. For the first time in years the doctor struggled to keep from swooning. Beside him
Ferguson, wide-eyed with terror, turned and vomited.

"People of Rus," the Tugar roared, his deep grating voice giving a sinister edge to the Suzdalians' tongue. "People of Rus, I come as the Namer of Time!"

A chorus of lamentations rose up from the crowd.

The Tugar extended his great hairy arms, and the cries drifted away with the breeze.

"For it is the wish of Muzta, Qar Qarth of
all the
northern steppe, to come unto you when the snow flies yet again. Make yourselves ready for his coming, people of Rus.

"Let the boyar of these people, let the holy man of these people,
come
forward."

Emil stood on his toes to watch as Ivor came down from the steps of his palace, while from across the square the doors of the great cathedral swung open, and Rasnar stepped out, followed by a procession of priests, waving censers of smoke and carrying the great icon of Perm.

The Tugar looked down from the platform at the two.

"Is all as it should be?" the Tugar roared. "Are all the lands ordered for our coming?"

"You are early," Ivor said, his voice cracking with fear.

The Namer raised his head heavenward, his laughter booming in short vicious bursts.

"That is not for you to question, but for me to announce. If not ready now, then ready you must be when the Wheel rises and falls once again with the passing of a year."

"Then we shall be ready," Ivor said nervously, bowing low.

"Two you must choose for me now, for my warriors hunger,
then
tonight we shall talk of all that must be done."

"Emil,
Ferguson," Kal hissed, "start backing out of here quietly."

Emil didn't need any prompting. The menace was becoming all too real.

"Yet all is not ready," came a voice from the square. Emil hesitated and looked back. It was Rasnar!

"Speak to him,
Ivor,
speak to him of the Yankees."

The Tugar turned and looked down at the priest.

"We shall talk of that tonight. First choose for me our repast!"

"Get out of here now!" Kal hissed.

Feeling a growing sense of terror, Emil followed Kal and
Ferguson as they pushed their way out of the square. Emil looked at those about him. They stood numb, as if possessed by a terror so great that their hearts and minds had ceased to function.

Reaching the edge of the crowd, the three broke into a run toward the south gate. Gasping for breath, they reached the guardhouse where their horses were tethered. Looking back up the street, Emil heard a loud cry, and suddenly the sea of faces turned to look in their direction.

Needing no prompting, Emil spurred his horse with such desperation that for a moment he thought the mare would throw him, and then with a splattering of mud the three galloped through the gate and on down the road back to
Fort
Lincoln
.

"They're coming!"

Hans, riding Andrew's mount, came galloping through the gate. Pulling up hard, he looked down at the colonel.

"They're coming, sir. I saw Ivor galloping out front, but
not a mile behind them were
the rest of those things, with that damned priest riding alongside."

"All right, Hans. Get the men ready."

Nervous, Andrew looked around at his command. Anything that could so badly frighten Emil had to be something truly terrifying.

The regiment was in an ugly mood. He wasn't sure if it was at him, or at what was coming. He had formed them on the parade ground an hour ago and told them all that he knew. His explanation had been greeted with stunned silence.

Hinsen had stepped forward and demanded to know how long Andrew had known of the Tugars. He had to tell them the truth, that he had been keeping the information secret for nearly a week. There was no time for an explanation, but he would have to give one once this crisis had been met.

The orders having been given, the men stood to at their positions along the wall and waited.

"Keep the gate open," Andrew said, and with Hans and the two color bearers behind him he stepped out of the fortress.

Coming straight down the road, Ivor was now plainly in view, his knights strung out behind him. Motioning for Hans and the other three to stay back, Andrew walked down the road to meet him.

Signaling his knights to wait, Ivor continued ahead, reining up in front of Andrew.

"So now you know," Ivor said evenly, looking down at Andrew.

"Now I know," Andrew replied.

"And what do you plan to do?" Ivor asked.

"Submit to that?" Andrew looked up at a man whom he felt he could almost call a friend.
"Never!"

"In the square Rasnar named your Weiss and
Ferguson as the chosen for tonight. I claimed the right of exemption. It was a difficult moment, and the Namer was not amused."

"Thank you for that, my friend."

"But Rasnar told of you, and he decided to come and see."

"Let him look all he wants," Andrew said coldly.

"My friend, do not resist. Now that the Namer has pronounced his words, he will leave tomorrow and return to the horde. No one of yours will be chosen today."

"Until next year, and then two out of ten of my men will die."

Ivor was silent.

"You knew I'd never submit, didn't you?" Andrew whispered.

Ivor nodded.

"But you will not fight them."

"We all shall die if I do."

"Maybe so," Andrew said coldly. "If you knew that and planned not to fight, then what was your reason for not trying to destroy me at once? Or did you plan to use me first, to overthrow Rasnar completely, subjugate the other cities, and then when we had weakened in your service to finish us off?"

Ivor looked straight at Andrew.

"I had thought of that at first," he said evenly, "but as the months passed I had hoped that maybe there would be another way."

"But time is up, years ahead of when you planned."

"That is true," Ivor said grimly, "and you are my vassal. I order you to submit."

Smiling sadly, Andrew shook his head.

The nargas sounded in the distance, and through the edge of the woods the first of the riders appeared. Stunned, the men of the 35th started to shout excitedly.

"Silence in the ranks," Hans roared. "Show them how men from
Maine
can stand!"

An eerie silence descended over the fort, punctuated by the growing blare of the nargas and the thundering of drums.

"There is no more time," Ivor roared, and spurring his horse about he galloped back toward the advancing procession.

Andrew returned to stand beneath the shot-torn battle standards. Try as he might he could not still the pounding of his heart as the great platform carrying its terrifying burden drew closer and closer, and finally stopped, the foul breath of the lead horses washing over him.

He looked straight ahead.

"
You
who are called Yankee, prostrate thyself before the Namer of Time, the voice of Muzta Qar Qarth, and the Tugar horde."

Standing rigid, Andrew did not move.

"Look up at me, Yankee!"

Andrew raised his head. Atop the high platform the Tugar gazed down from a height of nearly twenty feet. His dark fangs revealed by a leering grimace, he gazed down like a hawk examining its prey.

"So you have come through the gate of light as have the other cattle of this world."

The astonishment on Andrew's face showed, and the Tugar roared with delight.

"Yes, we of the horde know of the light, the gate that opens to bring us new races of cattle to feast upon. Some have tried to resist us. Their bones filled our feasting pits. Other, like the Rus you now live among, learned better, as you will learn.

"Learn to live, Yankee, for there is no other way."

The Tugar turned about, surveying the camp before him. His gaze lingered on the
Ogunquit,
and then moved to the railroad track, which ran from the dock and headed on up to the mills.

"The holy man has told me of your mysteries. We will teach you submission."

Andrew remained silent.

The Tugar leaped off the platform, the skull hanging about his waist rattling. He swaggered forward, still grinning. For a moment he paused to look at the flags and then turned to face Andrew.

"Are you the leader of the Yankees?"

"My name is Keane."

"Cattle do not give names unless asked," the Tugar snapped. "But you, cattle named Keane, will learn."

Andrew looked up at the Tugar and fixed him with his gaze. For long seconds the two seemed locked in a struggle. Andrew felt cold, distant, and filled with loathing.

"You are defiant," the Tugar hissed. "I even like that in cattle. You will be my pet. I need one as you to teach me your tongue. Prepare to ride with me back to Muzta Qar Qarth to tell him of your people."

"Like hell," Hans growled, and started to step forward.

"Sergeant!
Stand fast!"

"Ah, so the pet has an old one with fangs to protect him. There are cattle on the other side of this world among
whom
old men and younger ones such as you love each other. Is that it?" The Tugar laughed hoarsely.

Disgusted, Andrew spat on the ground.

With a roar the Tugar's arm swung out. Andrew tried to duck under the blow, but still it caught him on his left shoulder and he tumbled to the ground.

The sharp crack of a carbine echoed out, and the Tugar staggered back. More shocked than hurt, he held up his hand, as blood started to pour out of the wound where a bullet had creased his lower arm.

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Kathleen's scream as she struggled to break from Emil's grasp and rush to Andrew.

Andrew came to his feet, and straightening his uniform fixed the amazed Tugar with his gaze.

His bloodied hand shot out, pointing at Hans.

"Kill me that cattle!" the Namer roared.

"Regiment, take aim!"
Andrew shouted, and the five hundred men mounting the wall snapped their rifles down.

Andrew looked out of the corner of his eye at the Tugar warriors, who, having spread out to either side, stood in their stirrups, bows drawn taut.

"Go ahead," Andrew said evenly. "I'll die, and so will the three out here with me. But I promise you, when my men shoot their weapons at you, they'll be picking up pieces of your body on the other side of the river."

For long seconds the tension held.

"They can do it," Rasnar pleaded, rushing up to the Namer's side. "They can do it, the infidels."

The Namer did not even spare the priest a glance.

Barking a sharp laugh, the Namer slowly lowered his arm, strolled back to the platform, and climbed back up.

"You will be amusement then for Qubata," the Namer growled. "It's been long since that grayhair had sport to chase."

At a bark of command the horses started to turn.

"For you two," and the hatred in his eyes showed, "I will not have your throats slit first.

"No," he said, hissing, "you'll turn on my spit while still alive, and then watch as I draw your livers out and eat them before your eyes."

"Perhaps it will be I who watch your body being shoveled into the ground," Andrew snapped in reply, "for we Yankees would not soil our table with your foul flesh."

The Tugar fixed Andrew with a long hateful gaze. The platform turned and started back toward the city, and the Suzdalians who had been watching fell to their faces at his passing.

Rasnar looked back coldly, and kicking his
mount
gal-loped off with the party. Ivor sat for a long moment watching Andrew and then turned and followed the procession as well.