The Conqueror (29 page)

It looked like the enemy, well-equipped
with horses as they were, were deploying pretty much as any
half-trained captain would have expected. This was an easy battle
to read. The enemy senior commanders would never commit the bulk of
their troops. They would be expecting a sally from within the walls
of Kthmarra, timed to coincide with the one from
without.

That could still happen, thought
Lowren, although it wasn’t strictly necessary.

“
They’re going to try and
sweep around us on the left flank. They’ll try and cut us off from
the boats.” Vaeomon nodded in comprehension at Lowren’s
explanation. “Boys. Pass the word.”

In Lowren’s estimation the horses would
have been better employed along the beach, but lancers liked speed
above all else. The ground was harder up above and they were
further from the ballistas and the crossbowmen on the
ships.

“
Here.”

Two hefty troopers stepped in close.
Holding one of their shields on two sides, they made a quick
platform for Lowren. With a hand on each of their shoulders, he
mounted and carefully straightened up.

The king peered at the enemy
formations. He dropped lightly down again. The ubiquitous kid was
right there.

“
Pass the word. When you
hear the horn, left wheel.”

The kid ran up the line to the left,
carrying the instructions. He nipped right back and passed it to
the right flank as Vaeomon yelled at his people.

“
All right, who’s got the
horn?”

A soldier stepped up with
alacrity.

“
Here, sire.”

“
Good, mind you stay right
with me.” Lowren preferred the fellow at his left shoulder as
opposed the right.

What they were about to attempt was a
simple military evolution, admittedly complicated by the burning
buildings, the fires, the smoke and confusion.

A great shout came from the Hordesmen
as the cavalry wheeled to Lowren’s left and spurred up to a gallop.
Their massed infantry on the right flank, going all the way down to
the beach, put their heads down and advanced at a measured,
disciplined pace. He waited about a minute and a half, glad to see
faces turned to him with calm looks and cocked weapons.

“
Pass the word. Fire at
will.” Lowren’s instructions were noisily carried up and down the
line as the Sicurri all around him visibly braced
themselves.

Like driven snow, the clouds of arrows
flew. The enemy began to respond, and the men nearest him put up a
quick wall of shields to protect their king and themselves. He
ducked when appropriate and the first light flurry of enemy shafts
caused few casualties.

The beauty lies in the details. It was
a question of perfect timing and proper execution.

Lowren was betting his men could run a
hundred yards faster than those horses could run five hundred or a
thousand. They had the support of over a hundred ballistas, and
this side of their fort had none, apparently. He hadn’t seen
anything from them so far…

And a thousand bowmen deployed in a
long and over-extended line would quickly become thirty-six hundred
fighting men, contracted into a very small area. Any neophyte
general could see that there were nowhere near that many enemy
horsemen—perhaps three hundred or four hundred at best.

That situation would not last for very
long, and there were no doubt more forming up just inside the
gates.

A man on a horse was a big target—and
wounded horses quickly became uncontrollable.

The infantry was more worrisome, but
then they would have to advance through the fires and smoke of
burning stores and warehouses, and when they came out, it would be
all too late to change their minds.

The horsemen were at full gallop, about
to round the end of his line amidst a cloud of arrows.

He grabbed his signaler by the
shoulder.

“
Now. Do it
now.”

Sucking in a prodigious breath, the
fellow put the horn to his dry, cracked lips and blew as if all of
their lives depended on it.

***

It was a cold, quiet, drizzling day in
October and it was not the first time fires had been lit this year.
There was the subtle shift in routine, as well. This was a time of
introspection, and a kind of mourning for the life of the planet.
The birds were mostly gone, the trees and the plants dull and
lifeless. The autumn festival had come and gone, and people were
mostly marking time until the winter solstice and the rebirth and
renewal of the land. A terrible sadness lay on her heart and she
feared the worst of all sorts of things. She worried endlessly
about things she could not control and events far, far
away.

Eleanora was in their long, warmly-lit
common room, quietly sewing with her ladies when word
came.

A servant stood breathless at the door
and babbled the news that he was coming.

Throwing the work in progress aside,
her feet flew as servants and officials along the corridors stood
aside in haste.

She stood trembling at the top of the
steps of her palace, waiting for the carriage to arrive.

Word was that he had been wounded. A
bolt from the enemy had caught him in the back at the last moment.
His men had to jump back out of the boat to retrieve him. It was
all they knew.

The thoughts of Lowren had been gnawing
at her for days, ever since she’d heard. They knew so little, only
that he was alive—at least at the time, when the messengers had
departed.

The small procession wound its way up
the drive, and she stamped per foot in impatience. And where were
Theo and Kann? Why were they not travelling together? Surely the
season of war was over, and those two were needed at home
now.

A footman opened the door and she
caught sight of the recumbent figure within. There was someone else
in there, looking concerned and dressed in unusual civilian finery.
Yet they were a commoner, going by the beard and the cut of the
jacket. Her feet carried her unbidden and she leaned in the
door.

“
Lowren! Oh, Lowren, what
have you done with yourself?”

His face was pale and bloodless, the
sheets and bandages bloodstained.

“
It’s all right, fine
lady…’tis merely a flesh wound….what house is this…?” His voice
faltered and his head fell back on the pillows, greasy from his
hair, which was unkempt and wild-looking. “Oh, Jupiter, god of all
of time and fortune, I thank thee for the blessing of this good
woman’s company…in my time of dying. For surely my time has
come…”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“
Why, he’s
delirious!|

The men on horseback and the driver
dismounted. They were a dispirited lot, not a man-jack among them
daring to meet her eyes. Sure and he was their chief, and they
wouldn’t let him out of their sight, but this was a
disgrace.

“
Where in the bloody hell
did you think you were taking him?”

Eleanora was furious.

“
This man is in no state to
travel.”

Six of his hulking fellows stood around
looking sheepish as Eleanora barked orders and her own people
hustled down the steps to take charge of the litter.

They lifted him out of the carriage,
smelling badly of blood and sweat and pus and something
else.

His precious bodily fluids were
draining away from him, and she wondered if the leeches, her polite
word for the medical profession, had been bleeding him too
profusely.

Finally one of his companions found the
courage to speak.

“
We thought…we thought.”
Bibbs cleared his throat. “We thought it would be better if he was
at home.”

Her own servants took him up the
stairs, his own men bringing up the rear in a kind of
disgrace.

Eleanora fussed and fretted. On her
insistence, he was brought into her private chambers.

Where better for a prince to
die.

For that was how she thought of him. A
prince and not a king. He was so young.

When they’d heard the news, it seemed
so unreal.

Her servants, her private physician
Hermodautes, and Dervent the priest attended at her side as Lowren
was laid in her bed.

The man Garvin, and Bibbs, were there
at her side.

The other fellows had been
led aside to the great hall for a meal and some refreshment before
rooms and possibly
baths
were found for them. Her anger glittered in her
eyes.

“
Please. This man needs
rest.” Hermodautes’ command so closely mirrored the look on
Eleanora’s darkening visage that the pair of them turned with one
last look at Lowren, propped up on the queen’s own
pillows.

They headed reluctantly for the
door.

“
Must…speak with the lady
of the house…”

“
Shush.” Eleanora stepped
forward and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling Lowren’s forehead
and trying to determine if he was running a fever.

The initial impression was one of cold
and clamminess, which was not entirely unexpected as they’d just
brought him in the door.

Lowren’s eyes were wide and staring,
more lucid now.

“
Must speak to Queen
Eleanora…private messages from afar…” He clutched at her wrist with
a strong grip as Hermodautes tried to strip off the brown, tacky
bandages which entirely wrapped his upper torso. “Urgent dispatches
from the Front…”

“
Hold still, young
man.”

Lowren’s face came around, as if the
words were all new to him, which they probably were.

Hermodautes was not intimidated by the
human body, nor their pretensions to grandeur or even simple
worthiness.

It was all the same to him, when his
skills were called for. This was just one more maimed or wounded
warrior.

Lowren pulled his head up again,
earnestly beseeching the queen to listen. He pushed Hermodautes
away.

“
I must speak to the lady
privately.”

Falling back, Lowren blinked as if
tears were welling up just on the inside.

“
Water would be helpful,
but just a little, Majesty.” On a nod, he chewed his
lip.

“
Give us a moment,
please.”

Leaving the bandages loosened but still
in place, Hermodautes straightened.

“
I’ll be just outside the
door, if you need me—”

The queen nodded, as she poured out
half a glass of water from the carafe on her side-board.

As Hermodautes closed the door, one
last look revealed Lowren with his head back on the queen’s own
pillows. He appeared to be breathing calmly. His eyes were closed
and yet he was still obviously conscious going by the way he was
sort of moving his legs and wriggling around to get more
comfortable.

***

Never at a loss for dignity or
gravitas, Hermodautes stepped outside the door, a calm and patient
look on his face.

Sensing the looks of Eleanora’s two
bodyguards, standing tall and steady on each side of the door, he
turned and shrugged, as if to say, ‘women.’

Can’t live with them and can’t live
without them, and somehow queens were the worst.

It was nice work if you could get it,
though.

His eyes widened slightly at a muffled
squawk from the other side of the heavy door.

Ignoring the curious looks of the
soldiers, he edged up to the door and put his ear up against
it.

They were definitely talking, and he
could discern Lowren’s surprisingly strong voice and a more
feminine voice that was unmistakably the queen.

He was so close to catching about every
third word…

Other than that, he had nothing much to
do but cool his heels until he was called for.

Chapter
Twenty-One

“
You toad!”

Lowren, as soon as she leaned over to
listen to his strained whisper, quavering as if with his dying
breath, had grabbed her around the neck and she had little choice
but to half fall and half crawl onto the bed in an attempt to avoid
falling on her face.

“
Unhand me, you big brute!
Why! You big meanie.”

“
Heh.”

She stared, open-mouthed into those
mischievous hazel eyes, with their little flecks of amber and the
sardonic lines of humor at the corners.

“
You brat.” It was the
second time he’d fooled her.

“
Careful, my lady, my
queen. I really am wounded, you know. Ah.” Lowren carefully
adjusted his left arm under her shoulder, now lying on his left
side.

The doctors would do what they could,
but he might never sleep on his right side again. He was lucky it
was the right side, otherwise he’d be a dead man right now. He
might not even be ready the following spring, for such wounds
healed slowly if at all.