"Good," Pahner said. "Better than I could've hoped. Rus, is the damage to the track going to slow up your work crews' transit?"
"Not appreciably." The cleric took a bite of apsimon. "They'll be mainly foot traffic, and they can keep to the shoulders if they have to. By the time we're ready for the caravans, we should have all the road repair gangs in place."
"You need to make the timetable," the Marine said warningly. "If you don't, that whole part of the plan is out the window."
The cleric shrugged all four shoulders.
"It's in the hands of the God, quite literally. Heavy storms will prevent us, but other than that, I see no reason to fear. We'll make the schedule, Captain Pahner, unless the God very specifically prevents."
"Fullea?"
"We'll be waiting," the D'Sley matron said. "We're already repairing the dock facilities, and things will go much quicker once we get some decent cranes back in action. We'll make our timetable."
"Rastar?"
"Hmmm? Oh, timetable. Not a problem. Just a ride in the country."
"I swear, you're getting as bad as Honal," Roger said with a chuckle.
"Ah, it's these beautiful pistols you gave me!" the Northerner prince enthused. "With such weapons, how can we fail?"
"You're not to become decisively engaged," Pahner warned.
"Not a chance, Captain," the Northerner promised much more seriously. "We've fought this battle before, and we didn't have any friends waiting for us that time. Don't worry; we aren't planning on leaving our horns on their mantels. Besides, I want to see what cannon do to them, and we won't have any of our own along."
"Bistem? Bogess?"
"It will be interesting," the K'Vaernian said. "Very interesting."
"A masterly understatement, but accurate," the Diaspran agreed.
"Interesting is fine, but are you ready?" Roger asked. "Some of the units still seem pretty scrambled."
"They'll be ready by tomorrow morning," Kar assured him, and Tor Flain nodded in agreement.
"All right," Pahner said, looking at the tent roof. "We'll transfer the bulk of the cavalry tomorrow. Once they're off, we'll embark the infantry. As we're doing all of that, we'll also push out aggressive patrols on this side of the river to screen our advance. Starting tomorrow."
He gazed up at the roof for a few more seconds, obviously running through a mental checklist, then looked at Roger.
"One small change," he said. "Roger, I want you to take over the Carnan Battalion of the New Model. That and one troop of cavalry—Rastar, you choose which."
"Yes, Captain." The Mardukan nodded.
"They're going to be moving with the infantry. Roger will command the combined force as a strategic reserve. Roger, look at putting turom under all the infantry."
"If you're thinking of a mobile infantry battalion, civan would be better," Roger said. "Also, aren't we going to need the turom elsewhere?"
"We'll see. If you can get them on turom in the next three days, they'll go upriver behind the cavalry screen. If you can't, they'll go with the infantry."
"Yes, Sir," the prince responded.
"Okay," the captain concluded. "Get as much rest as you can tonight. There won't be much from here on out."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The gentle current of the river was barely enough to make the barge bob, but the war civan was having none of it.
"Get on there, you son of a bitch!" Honal snarled, but the civan was remarkably impervious to his rider's gentle encouragement. Finally, the cavalry commander gave up. "Get some ropes!"
Enough lines on the horse-ostrich and enough hands on the lines finally managed to drag the recalcitrant beast onto the barge.
"Last one, Rastar!"
"Good, we're already behind schedule," the Northern prince replied, and turned to look over his shoulder as something moved up behind him.
"Good luck, you two," Roger said. The prince was riding his huge war pagee again, with that weird creature from the far lands and his war slave up on her back. It was fortunate indeed, Rastar reflected, that the captain's plan didn't require Roger to cross the river. Getting that huge beast on a barge would have been far worse than unpleasant.
The last prince of fallen Therdan looked past the human and his odd companions to the troop of cavalry following along behind the pagee. Chim Pri, the troop leader, was a cousin of sorts, a distant one, but he'd shown great promise on the retreat and in Diaspra. He also worshiped the ground Roger strode on, so detailing his troop as bodyguards—whatever the captain might call it—had been an easy decision.
Rastar was hard put not to grunt in laughter at the sight of the brand-new banner snapping in the breeze beside Patty. It had been Honal's idea to have the thing made, but Rastar had gotten behind and pushed once his cousin suggested it. It hadn't been easy to get it made without Roger's discovering that they were up to something, but the expression on the prince's face when it was formally presented had made all of the secrecy and skulking about eminently worthwhile. Rastar hadn't been certain whether Roger wanted to laugh or shoot them on the spot, which was more or less what he'd expected. What he hadn't expected was the fierce pride the prince's new personal cavalry troop took in their banner.
Rastar watched the stiff breeze blow the dianda standard straight out to display the basik head. Of course, it didn't depict quite a standard basik. This one lacked the timidly inoffensive and stupid expression of the original, and the mouthful of needle-sharp fangs—clearly exposed in a particularly nasty-looking human-style grin—were hardly part of the issue equipment of the garden-variety basik.
On the other hand, they went very well with the incredibly deadly basik who commanded the cavalry riding under it.
"Good luck yourself," Rastar told him now. "And try not to get killed. Captain Pahner would do all manner of incredibly painful things to me if you did something that stupid."
"Coward," Roger said, and Rastar shook a playful fist up at him.
"Just make sure you're ready when we come scampering back," Honal put in with a grunt of laughter.
"We will be," Roger said. "I swear it."
Rastar stuck out a true-hand, and Roger leaned down to take it.
"Keep your powder dry," the human said in a voice which was only half-teasing.
"We will." The Northern prince spurred his war civan, and the beast easily trotted down the planks onto the barge beside Honal's recalcitrant mount. "See you in Sindi."
* * *
"No!" Kny Camsan, paramount war leader of the Boman, slammed a fisted true-hand onto the table hard enough to send half the cups flying into the air and spill wine everywhere. Not that it mattered particularly, for the floor of the former throne room was well over a centimeter deep in food and other debris. The once splendid chamber reeked like a midden, but the barbarians lying on mats of straw atop the mire paid no more attention to the muck than they did to the stench.
"We have those K'Vaernian bastards right where we want them," the war leader continued in grating tones, "and I, for one, have no intention of throwing myself at their walls until they're a hell of a lot weaker than they are right now. I am not letting anyone repeat Therdan."
There was a mutter of agreement at that. The war leader who'd decided that Therdan could simply be overrun with enough bodies had died in the second wave, but Boman in fighting frenzy weren't precisely noted for tactical flexibility, and the waves had continued while the tribal leaders argued over who would replace him. And while they argued, nearly a tenth part of the combined clans had died.