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As Rod turned away, he heard a soldier say, "Surely he will not." The man
beside him shrugged. "A king is a king. What knows he of a common man-at-
arms? What matters it to him if we are slain and frozen?"
"To King Tuan, it matters greatly," the other said indignantly. "Dost not recall
that he was King of Beggars ere he was King of Gramarye?"
"Still& he is a lord's son& " But the other seemed to doubt his own prejudice.
"How could a lordling care for the fate of common men!''
"Assuredly thou'lt not believe he wastes his soldiers' lives?"
"And wherefore should I not?"
"Because he is a most excellent general, if for no reason other!" the first cried,
exasperated. "He'll not send us to our deaths unheeding; he is too good a soldier!
For how shall he win a battle if he has too small an army?"
His mate looked thoughtful.
"He'll husband us as charily as any merchant spends his gold." The first soldier
leaned back against a hillock. "Nay, he'll not send us 'gainst the foe if he doth not
believe that most of us will live, and triumph."
The other soldier smiled. "Mayhap thou hast the truth of it for what is a general
that hath no army?"
Rod didn't wait for the answer; he wandered on, amazed by Tuan's men. They
weren't particularly worried about the Evil Eye. Dinner, yes; being sent against
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the beastmen with the odds against them, yes; but, magic? No. Not if Tuan
waited till he had the proper counterspell. "Put the average Terran in here," he
muttered, "put him against an Evil Eye that really works, and he'd run so fast you
wouldn't see his tracks. But the way these guys take it, you'd think it was nothing
but a new kind of crossbow."
"It is little more, to them," Fess's voice murmured behind his ear. He stood atop
the cliff, far above, watching Rod walk through the camp. "They have grown up
with magic, Rod as did their fathers, and their grandfathers, and their ancestors
 for twenty-five generations. The phenomena do not frighten them only the
possibility that the enemy's magic might prove stronger."
"True." Rod pursed his lips, nodding. Looking up, he saw Brother Chillde
winding a bandage around an older soldier's head. The man winced, but bore the
pain philosophically. Rod noticed several other scars; no doubt the man was used
to the process. Rod stepped up to the monk. "You're all over the field, good
friar."
Brother Chillde smiled up at him. "I do what I may, Lord Warlock." His smile
didn't have quite the same glow it had had earlier.
"And a blessing it is for the men but you're only human, Brother. You need
some rest yourself."
The monk shrugged, irritated. "These poor souls do need mine aid far more,
milord. 'Twill be time enough for rest when the wounded rest as easily as they
may." He sighed and straightened, eyeing the bandaged head. "I've eased the
passing of those who had no hope, what little I could. 'Tis time to think of the
living." He looked up at Rod. "And to do what
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Christopher Stash off
we can to ensure that they remain alive."
"Yes," Rod said slowly, "the King and I were thinking along the same lines."
"Indeed!" Brother Chillde perked up visibly. "I am certain thou dost ever do so
yet what manner of aiding dost thou havea-mind?"
The idea crystallized. "Witches more of 'em. We managed to talk one of the
older witches into joining us this time."
"Aye." Brother Chillde looked up at the hilltop. "And I did see that she and thy
wife, alone, did hold off the beast-men's Evil Eye the whiles our soldiers did
retreat. Indeed, I wrote it in my book whilst yet the battle raged."
Rod was sure he had in fact, that's why he'd told the monk. He seemed to be
the only medieval equivalent to a journalist available, there being no minstrels
handy.
Brother Chillde turned back to Rod. "Thy wife must needs be exceeding
powerful."
Rod nodded. "Makes for an interesting marriage."
Brother Chillde smiled, amused, and the old soldier chuckled. Then the monk
raised an eyebrow. "And this venerable witch who did accompany her she, too,
must have powers extraordinary."
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"She does," Rod said slowly. "Her name's 'Angry Agatha.' "
The old soldier's head snapped up. He stared; and two or three other soldiers
nearby looked up too, then darted quick glances at each other. Fear shadowed
their faces.
"She decided it's more fun to help people than to hurt them," Rod explained. "In
fact, she's decided to stay with us."
Every soldier within hearing range began to grin.
" 'Tis wondrous!" Brother Chillde fairly glowed. "And dost thou seek more such
ancient ones?"
Rod nodded. "A few more, hopefully. Every witch counts, Brother."
"Indeed it doth! Godspeed thine efforts!" the monk cried. And as Rod turned
away, Brother Chillde began to bandage another damaged soldier, chattering,
"Dost'a hear? The High Warlock doth seek to bring the ancient wizards and the
hill-hags to aid us in our plight!"
Rod smiled to himself; just the effect he'd wanted! By evening, every soldier in
the army would know that they were fighting fire with blazing enthusiasm and
that the witches were going out for reinforcements.
He stopped, struck by another thought. Turning, he looked back up the hillside.
Tuan stood, silhouetted against a thundercloud, arms akimbo, surveying the
devastation below him.
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You shouldn't lie to your army. That'd just result in blasted morale and, after a
while, they'd refuse to fight, because they couldn't be sure what they'd be getting
into, that you wouldn 7 be deliberately throwing their lives away.
Rod started back up the hill. He'd promised the rank and file more witch-power; [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]