William R. Forstchen Lost Regiment 1 Rally Cry

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straight into a month in the brig. Now let's go."
Near running to keep up, Kathleen followed Andrew across the square.
She now saw him transformed, cold, determined, and yet somehow relishing the
prospect of this challenge.
At the group's approach, the crowd gave back sullenly.
Even from the outside of the building Andrew could see that the tavern was a
wreck. The heavy wooden door was torn right off its hinges, lying in the
street. Stepping into the gloomy interior, he saw O'Donald and half a dozen of
his men standing in a cluster in the corner of the room.
O'Donald had his sword out, and all the men stood with pistols drawn.
Ivor and a dozen armed guards stood in the middle of the room, the rest of the
tavern packed behind them with angry onlookers.
"All right, what the hell is going on here?" Andrew snapped sharply, stepping
between the two groups.
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As one, near every man in the tavern started shouting at once.
"Goddammit, everyone shut the hell up!" Andrew roared. His command seemed to
need no translation, and the room fell silent.
Andrew looked at Kal, who nervously stood by Ivor's side.
"Kal, tell me what happened."
"Keane. There was a fight. A man of Suzdal is dead," and he pointed to the
bar, where a corpse was laid out, the side of his head bashed in, with blood
still oozing slowly from his shattered nose and his ears.
"He smashed up James," O'Donald growled. "That man started it."
"Later, Q'Donald," Andrew snapped, not bothering to look back at the major.
Kal pointed to half a dozen Suzdalians standing at the bar, one of them
holding an obviously broken arm. A member of the group gestured toward
O'Donald's men and started shouting.
"He claims O'Donald and his companions started a fight for no reason,"
Kal stated. "The Yankee lying on the floor then hit Boris, the dead man, with
a broken chair leg."
Ivor and the assembly growled darkly as the man spoke.
Andrew looked back at O'Donald.
"Well, what's your side?" he asked, a note of disgust edging his voice.
"It's a lie, colonel darling. We was having a nice sociable drink. I even
stood those blackguards a round, I did. Then one of them tried to pick
Jamie boy's pocket, and that after we'd stood 'em a drink! So Jamie punched
him one. A beautiful blow it was, right to the jaw. Then that
Boris fellow was on him with a knife. Well, we all set to, trying to pull that
thieving bastard back. Jamie got stuck, but by the saints he still had the
strength to pick up a chair leg and send that devil sprawling. Well, we
cleaned them out of here, and before you could shake a stick this mob starts
to form outside crying for blood."
Dammit, Andrew thought darkly. O'Donald was a regular lightning rod for
trouble. He knew the major most likely wouldn't try to lie to him, but his
reputation for trouble had been known in the division long before they had
embarked.
"Well, it's a hell of a mess now," Andrew snarled, and walking over to their
side he knelt down by James. Kathleen was working feverishly on him, trying to
stanch the blood flowing from an ugly knife wound in his side. A froth of
blood gurgled from the man's lips.
"How is he?"
Kathleen looked up at him.
"They punctured his lung. I can't tell how bad the bleeding is inside.
We've got to get him back to Dr. Weiss."
"All right, make a stretcher from one of those busted tables. Let's get him
out of here."
Ivor started shouting darkly at Kal.
"Ivor says that a man of Suzdal died by your men. The man who did it must die
now!"
Andrew turned and looked straight at Ivor. He had to handle this one
carefully. Seeing a back room, he pointed to it. Ivor and Kal following, the
three went into the room and closed the door.
Andrew turned to Ivor and extended his hand in a gesture of exasperation.
"Seems like your people started it," Andrew said, going at once to the attack.
"Not as I see it," Ivor snapped.
"Come now. You saw those men. They're gutter sweepings. I know a band of
cutthroats when I see them. One of your people tried to rob one of mine, then
mine was knifed while defending himself. I should be seeking damages from
you."
"Never!" Ivor roared. "I want your man for justice and blood money for the
poor victim's family."
"I will not leave my man here," Andrew said coldly. "He needs our doctor now
if there's any chance for him to live.
"I'll agree to this," Andrew continued. "If he lives my man will stand trial.
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Since this is your kingdom but involves one of my soldiers, we'll have two
judges, you and me."
"I stand as sole judge for Suzdal," Ivor said darkly. "You will whisk your man
back to your fortress and hide him there."
"That would be madness on my part," Andrew replied quickly. "I want your
friendship, not your animosity. I acknowledge you as lord of
Suzdal, and I am your guard and vassal. But my people are different from yours
and I am responsible for them."
"And blood money?"
"I will pay that now," Andrew said, "since your man is dead. If mine should
die, though, then the balance is even, for they killed each other, and the
matter is settled."
"Ridiculous!" Ivor snapped. "He must face my justice right now!"
Andrew was silent, staring into Ivor's eyes. The boyar did not give this time.
Andrew knew the man was in a corner; the crowd outside wanted blood for blood.
If Ivor should back down, word would fly that the
Yankees had more power than their own boyar. In a way Andrew could almost feel
sorry for him. But if he gave his men over to Suzdalian justice and a
precedent was set, there could be no end to legal entanglements, his command
subject to execution on the most arbitrary of laws. The sight upon his last
visit of several rotting corpses hanging from the south wall had made him
aware of that. It was something he could never permit happening to his own
men.
"Will you agree if I promise this?" Andrew said, trying to find an out.
"My man shall be taken back tonight for treatment. I will stay here as a
hostage, guaranteeing that as soon as he is well enough to be moved, he will
be returned to your palace. There a trial shall be held, but we must judge
this together."
Wide-eyed Kal could not help but let his admiration show. It was unheard-of
for a noble to offer himself as hostage for a peasant. In such affairs a noble
would not even care about what happened to one of his people, and more than
likely would spear the man on the spot, just to get the argument out of the
way so as not to disturb an evening of drinking.
"I do not like this," Ivor growled, trying to hide his amazement at
Andrew's offer.
"That is all I can offer," Andrew said evenly, trying to not let his
desperation show. He wasn't one for suicidal gestures, but he would be damned
if he would allow one of his command to be dragged out, executed, and then
impaled on the city wall.
"There is no other way," Ivor said darkly. "I cannot let my people think that
you have such influence over me. There is enough trouble with
Rasnar as is he will seize that and use it against me. Perhaps this fight came
from his own hand. I have risked too much by having you here already."
Andrew looked at Ivor in shock. He had never expected such candor.
"Then we are stuck, my friend," Andrew said evenly.
A loud shout suddenly echoed from the next room, and before the three could
even react the door burst open. A disheveled warrior, sweat streaming from his
face, bowed at the sight of Ivor and started speaking, his voice near cracking
with excitement.
Bellowing a wild curse, Ivor stormed out of the room.
"What's happening?" Andrew cried, looking at Kal.
"It's the Novrodians! They're raiding a village north of the city!"
Ivor came storming back into the room and looked at Andrew.
"You are my liege man. One of my villages is under attack!"
Both of the men looked at each other with what almost appeared to be relief,
for the impasse of the moment could be forgotten.
"How far away?" Andrew asked. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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