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where, or even if, the army is going to make some real stand?"
The colonel of unicorn-riders shook his head. "Sorry, Captain. Wish I did."
"Colonel Biffle! Colonel Biffle, sir!" A rider hurried up to the officer, and
reined in. He pointed off to the west. "More footsoldiers in trouble over
there, sir."
With a weary sigh, Colonel Biffle nodded. "Well, let's see if we can't get
'em out of it, then." He tipped his hat to Gremio again. "Nice talking with
you, Captain. Sorry I can't stay longer. Good luck." He rode off, followed by
his men.
Colonel Florizel limped over to Gremio. "Still here, I see."
"Same to you, sir," Gremio replied.
"Oh, yes. Still here." Florizel shrugged wearily. "For how much longer,
though, who knows? They've whipped us right and proper this time."
"Yes, sir." Gremio admitted what he could hardly deny. "How do we go on
after . . . this? Howcan we go on after . . . this?"
"I have no idea," Florizel answered. "All I know is, nobody's ordered me to
throw down my sword. Till someone does, I'm still in the fight. Until King
Geoffrey has to give up, if he ever does,he's still in the fight. So we've got
to keep grinding away, see what happens next, and hope it's something good."
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He's a simple man, Gremio thought, not for the first time. Here, though,
Florizel's simplicity amounted to strength. The wing commander didn't worry
about what he couldn't help. He kept his mind on his own job, and did that as
well as he could. Anything else? Anything else was simply beyond his ken, and
he didn't dwell on it. Gremio wished he could ignore the world falling to
pieces around him as well as his superior managed the trick.
"If we can use a couple of more rear-guard actions to get some separation
between our main force " Florizel began.
"You mean, the biggest mob of soldiers running away," Gremio broke in.
Florizel only nodded. He didn't even bother quarreling about the way Gremio
put it. "If we can get some separation," he went on, "we can salvagesomething
from the ruins, anyhow: an army that can keep Doubting George from marching
all the way through Dothan to Shell Bay the way Hesmucet's marching through
Peachtree."
"Maybe," Gremio said, though he wasn't sure the Army of Franklin could have
done that even before the southrons smashed it to bits. It certainly would
have had a better chance then; he couldn't deny that, either.
"Gods damn it, we're free Detinans," Florizel said, as if Gremio had claimed
they were blond serfs. "I'd sooner die on my feet than live on my knees."
"Yes, sir," Gremio said. "But I'd soonerlive on my feet, if I possibly can."
Florizel considered that. By the startled look on his face, it hadn't
occurred to him up till now. After more than a little thought, he nodded.
"Yes, thatwould be best, wouldn't it? It would if we could manage it, I mean.
I don't know how we're going to."
"We have to get away from the southrons." Gremio preferred not to mention
that only a little while before he'd almost surrendered to Doubting George's
men. Florizel didn't need to know that. It hadn't happened, and now maybe it
wouldn't. Gremio dared hope, anyhow.
But even if they did get back up to Dothan or Great River Province, what
could they do then? Precious little, not after the losses they'd taken. For
years, the Army of Franklin had been the heart of King Geoffrey's power here
in the east. Now it was broken, and so was that power. How could it be
revived?Could it be revived? Gremio didn't know. He shook his head. No, that
wasn't true. Hedid know. He just didn't care to think about what he knew.
* * *
For as long as Lieutenant General Bell could, he looked on the second day's
fighting in front of Ramblerton much as he had on the first day's: the
southrons had pushed his men hard, but he'd held his lines together even if he
had had to give some ground.
The night before, though, his wing commanders and Ned of the Forest had
agreed with him, or at least not disagreed too loudly. None of them had
quarreled with his intention of inviting the second day of battle. None of
them had seen any better choices available to the Army of Franklin. Tonight,
though . . . tonight, the wing commanders and Ned didn't wait to be summoned.
They sought Bell out in the pavilion he'd run up when he couldn't find a
farmhouse as night fell.
One word came from all the officers:disaster . "Sir, my wing was attacked
from front, rear, and flank all at the same time," Stephen the Pickle said.
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"Those gods-damned southron unicorn-riders with their quick-shooting
crossbows . . ." He shuddered. "We didn't break, not in any ordinary sense of
the word. They tore us to shreds. Not much of what was the left is left."
"Or of the center," Benjamin the Heated Ham said. "The southrons tore us to
pieces, too, from the front and then from the flank when the left retreated."
He nodded to Stephen. "Seeing what happened to it, I don't know how it could
have done anything but retreat."
Bell turned to Florizel. "And you, Colonel? What have you got to say?" He'd
expected the least from Florizel. He'd got the most. A fair part of Florizel's
wing remained in good fighting trim or as good as any in the Army of Franklin.
"Well, sir," Florizel answered, "we thought the hardest blows would fall on
us, and I'd say we got the softest. That's why we're not in such dreadful [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]