[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
knew all the tricks their northern cousins did, even if they weren't always
quite so handy with them. Their lightnings smote James' men, too. The tremors
died away as the southron mages mastered them. And as for the demons, as soon
as they manifested themselves in the real world, they were as vulnerable to
weaponry as any other real-world creatures. Once the stream of darts from a
repeating crossbow knocked three of them from the sky in quick succession, the
rest grew much more cautious.
And the southrons had many more engines to turn on James' men than Brigadier
Alexander had to turn on them. One after another of the catapults brought with
such labor from Rising Rock went out of action. Alexander's artificers
shrieked as fire engulfed them.
James beckoned for a runner. "Tell Brigadier Falayette to start his
footsoldiers moving right this minute. We're getting hammered harder than
we're hammering."
"Yes, sir." The runner dashed off.
Despite the order, the pikemen and the crossbowmen who would follow them did
not go forward. Fuming, James of Broadpath dispatched another runner to his
reluctant brigadier, this one with more peremptory orders. After a little
while, the second runner came back, saying, "Brigadier Falayette's
compliments, sir, but he believes the enemy has strung wires in front of his
position. Have we tinsnips or axes to cut them?"
"Tinsnips?" James clapped a hand to his forehead. "Tinsnips?" The word might
have come from one of the more obscure tongues the blond tribes used. "You
tell Brigadier Falayette that if he doesn't get his men moving this
instant thisinstant , do you hear me? we'll find out if we've got a pair of
tinsnips big enough to fit on his gods-damned neck."
With a gulp, the runner fled.
And the pikemen and crossbowmen did go forward straight into everything the
southrons' still undefeated engines could throw at them, straight into the
massed shooting of every crossbowman Whiskery Ambrose could put on the walls
of Fort WiLi. They went forward roaring, plainly intending to sweep everything
before them.
But, as Brigadier Falayette had said, the southrons did have thin wires
strung in front of Fort WiLi. They slowed the attackers so that Whiskery
Ambrose's men and engines could pound them without mercy, and the northerners
were able to do little to reply.
"Where's Simon the mage?" James shouted in fury. When the wizard came before
him, he growled, "Why didn't you clever sons of bitches notice those wires
ahead of time?"
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"I'm very sorry, sir, but we can't possibly notice everything," Simon said.
"Sometimes it seems as if you can't noticeanything ," James said. The colonel
gave him an aggrieved look, which he resolutely ignored. "Is there anything
you can do to get rid of the gods-damned wires? Conjure up some demons with
sharp teeth and a taste for iron, maybe?"
Simon the mage shook his head. "We would need some considerable,
time-consuming research, and we have no time to consume, I fear."
He was all too obviously right about that. Instead of going forward with
roars, James' men were streaming away from the fort outside Wesleyton. They'd
made their attack and seen it fail. They were veterans. They knew what that
meant: no point in staying close to the enemy and getting hurt to no purpose.
After a while, Whiskery Ambrose sent out a young captain with a white flag.
Northern soldiers led him to James of Broadpath. "The general's compliments,
sir," the youngster said, "and he would be pleased to grant you two hours'
truce to recover your wounded."
James bowed. "That is very courteous and gentlemanly of General Ambrose, and
I accept with many thanks." They exchanged a few more compliments before the
southron captain went back to Fort WiLi.
Now I'll have to explain to Captain Thraxton how and why I didn't break into
Wesleyton, James thought gloomily.That will be every bit as delightful as
going to the dentist .
A scryer came up to him, as if the thought of having to talk to Thraxton were
enough to bring the fellow into being. "What now?" James asked.
The scryer looked worried. James felt his own temper, stretched thin by the
repulse, fray even further. Had the illustrious Thraxton decided to sack him
even in advance of knowing what had happened here? James didn't intend to
disappear peacefully. But then the scryer said, "Sir, the fighting's started
up by Rising Rock."
XI
Another gray, foggy, misty day. Captain Ormerod was sick of them. "Is this
what fall is like in these parts?" he asked, leaning closer to the campfire.
"If it is, why in the hells does anyone live here?"
"It really isn't, sir," Lieutenant Gremio answered. "I've spoken with some
men who come from this part of Franklin, and "
"Looking for evidence, eh?" Ormerod broke in.
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact," Gremio said. "They tell me they can't
recall seeing such a wretched run of weather. It's almost as if some mage were
holding a blanket of clouds and mist over Rising Rock."
Ormerod raised an eyebrow. "Do you suppose some mage is? Some southron mage,
I mean?"
"I wouldn't think so, sir," Gremio said. "Surely Count Thraxton would notice
if that were so."
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"Oh, surely." Ormerod put as much sarcastic venom in that as he could.
"Thraxton is just like a god he notices everything that goes on around him.
Haven't you seen that for yourself?"
"It's foggy. I can't see anything much," Gremio said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
knew all the tricks their northern cousins did, even if they weren't always
quite so handy with them. Their lightnings smote James' men, too. The tremors
died away as the southron mages mastered them. And as for the demons, as soon
as they manifested themselves in the real world, they were as vulnerable to
weaponry as any other real-world creatures. Once the stream of darts from a
repeating crossbow knocked three of them from the sky in quick succession, the
rest grew much more cautious.
And the southrons had many more engines to turn on James' men than Brigadier
Alexander had to turn on them. One after another of the catapults brought with
such labor from Rising Rock went out of action. Alexander's artificers
shrieked as fire engulfed them.
James beckoned for a runner. "Tell Brigadier Falayette to start his
footsoldiers moving right this minute. We're getting hammered harder than
we're hammering."
"Yes, sir." The runner dashed off.
Despite the order, the pikemen and the crossbowmen who would follow them did
not go forward. Fuming, James of Broadpath dispatched another runner to his
reluctant brigadier, this one with more peremptory orders. After a little
while, the second runner came back, saying, "Brigadier Falayette's
compliments, sir, but he believes the enemy has strung wires in front of his
position. Have we tinsnips or axes to cut them?"
"Tinsnips?" James clapped a hand to his forehead. "Tinsnips?" The word might
have come from one of the more obscure tongues the blond tribes used. "You
tell Brigadier Falayette that if he doesn't get his men moving this
instant thisinstant , do you hear me? we'll find out if we've got a pair of
tinsnips big enough to fit on his gods-damned neck."
With a gulp, the runner fled.
And the pikemen and crossbowmen did go forward straight into everything the
southrons' still undefeated engines could throw at them, straight into the
massed shooting of every crossbowman Whiskery Ambrose could put on the walls
of Fort WiLi. They went forward roaring, plainly intending to sweep everything
before them.
But, as Brigadier Falayette had said, the southrons did have thin wires
strung in front of Fort WiLi. They slowed the attackers so that Whiskery
Ambrose's men and engines could pound them without mercy, and the northerners
were able to do little to reply.
"Where's Simon the mage?" James shouted in fury. When the wizard came before
him, he growled, "Why didn't you clever sons of bitches notice those wires
ahead of time?"
Page 214
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"I'm very sorry, sir, but we can't possibly notice everything," Simon said.
"Sometimes it seems as if you can't noticeanything ," James said. The colonel
gave him an aggrieved look, which he resolutely ignored. "Is there anything
you can do to get rid of the gods-damned wires? Conjure up some demons with
sharp teeth and a taste for iron, maybe?"
Simon the mage shook his head. "We would need some considerable,
time-consuming research, and we have no time to consume, I fear."
He was all too obviously right about that. Instead of going forward with
roars, James' men were streaming away from the fort outside Wesleyton. They'd
made their attack and seen it fail. They were veterans. They knew what that
meant: no point in staying close to the enemy and getting hurt to no purpose.
After a while, Whiskery Ambrose sent out a young captain with a white flag.
Northern soldiers led him to James of Broadpath. "The general's compliments,
sir," the youngster said, "and he would be pleased to grant you two hours'
truce to recover your wounded."
James bowed. "That is very courteous and gentlemanly of General Ambrose, and
I accept with many thanks." They exchanged a few more compliments before the
southron captain went back to Fort WiLi.
Now I'll have to explain to Captain Thraxton how and why I didn't break into
Wesleyton, James thought gloomily.That will be every bit as delightful as
going to the dentist .
A scryer came up to him, as if the thought of having to talk to Thraxton were
enough to bring the fellow into being. "What now?" James asked.
The scryer looked worried. James felt his own temper, stretched thin by the
repulse, fray even further. Had the illustrious Thraxton decided to sack him
even in advance of knowing what had happened here? James didn't intend to
disappear peacefully. But then the scryer said, "Sir, the fighting's started
up by Rising Rock."
XI
Another gray, foggy, misty day. Captain Ormerod was sick of them. "Is this
what fall is like in these parts?" he asked, leaning closer to the campfire.
"If it is, why in the hells does anyone live here?"
"It really isn't, sir," Lieutenant Gremio answered. "I've spoken with some
men who come from this part of Franklin, and "
"Looking for evidence, eh?" Ormerod broke in.
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact," Gremio said. "They tell me they can't
recall seeing such a wretched run of weather. It's almost as if some mage were
holding a blanket of clouds and mist over Rising Rock."
Ormerod raised an eyebrow. "Do you suppose some mage is? Some southron mage,
I mean?"
"I wouldn't think so, sir," Gremio said. "Surely Count Thraxton would notice
if that were so."
Page 215
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Oh, surely." Ormerod put as much sarcastic venom in that as he could.
"Thraxton is just like a god he notices everything that goes on around him.
Haven't you seen that for yourself?"
"It's foggy. I can't see anything much," Gremio said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]