The Wardog's Coin Page 4

“You’re walking funny, Sarge,” the Bastard observed as we reached the Company. Most of the men were sitting in the formations they'd be standing in later. The Bastard was in charge of the Company's makeshift armory, and it was his job to ensure that everyone had a sword and a shield before forming up. Me and Shady was the only ones not good to go yet, but there was still dozens of shields on the ground. Each unclaimed one represented a casualty who wouldn’t take the field today. “I heard that elf wench took you up. She like it rough?”

  “Yeah, but she said she was thinking about you while we was doing it.”

  “Did she now?” The Bastard was reliable enough in a fight, but there was a reason he was still a ranker after six years with the Company. He was big, though more fat than muscle, and when he grinned you could see he was missing teeth on the left side where he'd taken a punch from a mailed fist three years ago.

  “Sure she did,” I assured him, picking up a shield, a solid oak one with good iron rim on it. It had a deep gouge on one side, but the wood wasn’t cracked. It would do.

  “She’s a damn elf,” Shady snarled as he searched for his favorite shield, a small, battered buckler with the Company’s symbol painted in blue instead of the usual red. “Sooner cut your bloody todger off and feed it to her bird than stick it anywhere useful.” Shady didn’t like failing much, not even when it wasn’t his fault.

  “Bird that big eats bigger worms than the Bastard got,” Baldo Bigarse said gravely as he came wandering over from his men positioned in the center, looking disturbingly like a sausage on the fire about to burst its skin in his too-small leather jerkin. His face was even red. “Good to see you, Sarge, Shady. Heard you burned us some pigs. Hey, Bastard, when you giving out the pigstickers?”

  “When the capitaine says.”

  Baldo grunted. He was one of the Company’s three caporals, and he was always dour before the fighting started. The pigstickers, oversized spears twice the height of a man and as thick as a man’s arm, was stacked neatly in long pyramids. The capitaine had set the men to making them as soon as he heard we might be facing warboars. They was heavy and unwieldy but would be our best defense against Ulgor’s cavalry if he chose to risk the one hundred and fifty or so warboars left to him.

  “Sergent, Shadow, so pleased you elected to join us before we took the dance floor.” In contrast to Bigarse, the capitaine was in high spirits this morning.

  It’s amazing what renewed hope will do for a man’s attitude. Not that Capitaine Donnier was ever down in the dumps, but he’d been uncharacteristically grim ever since hearing about the warboars. Knowing that half of the orc's cavalry was charbroiled by elven fire seemed to have cheered him up considerably.

  “What’s the plan, Capitaine?”

  “I see you found your sword.” He nodded approvingly then pointed in front of where the elves was positioned. “That’s the weak spot. The ditch there is only half the depth it is elsewhere on the line. And, since you probably didn’t notice, we haven’t any artillery directly covering the approach. They know it by now, so unless the orc is dumber than we imagine him to be, that’s where he’ll try to break through. When we hear four horns, we’ll relieve the elves. The understanding being that we’ll take our place on the line when Ulgor finally sends in his boars, or when Lord Ysfaliss there, the elf in the red armor with the ribbons on his helm, requests relief.”

  I nodded, mentally noting the elf lord. He was easy to spot, what with being half a head taller than most of the other elves and wearing glass armor that looked as if it was carved from a giant garnet. Neither me nor the capitaine had a lot of experience fighting mixed breeds before this contract, but the elves did, and we'd learned in the pass that they liked to send in wave after wave of goblins, trying to wear down the enemy before sending in their heavy troops. Ulgor appeared to be sticking to conventional tactics today, which suited us in the Company just fine. We was happy to sit and watch the elves instead of standing and bleeding ourselves. Two horns sounded, indicating one of the sky riders had seen a third wave on its way toward us. There was a moment of abrupt silence as everyone, man and elf, listened attentively. Then the two horns was followed by a single one, and all of us in the Company relaxed. Goblins. Not our problem.

  I wondered how long that was going to be true, as the gobbos marched toward us, drums booming out the step and thousands of unshod goblin feet kicking up a cloud of dust that obscured their numbers. They was in at least twelve ranks, with a front as wide as the entire elven line, and it didn’t seem possible that for all their skill with their swords, the lightly armored forest elves would be able to withstand the sheer weight of numbers being pressed against their flimsy two-rank line. But the capitaine and everyone else seemed entirely unconcerned. No order to form up was given, and most of the men wasn’t even bothering to watch the bloodshed that was about to take place.

  Soon I began to understand their disinterest. The Silverbows and the other archers loosed just when the goblins was close enough to begin their final charge. Nearly every shaft struck home, and I saw one goblin sergent hit by three, one in each eye and the third through his mouth, just as he opened it to shout out orders. At such close range, the elven longbows did not miss.

  We could hear the relentless thwang-thwang-thwang of the bowstrings snapping, punctuated by goblin shrieks as one after another at the front of the line dropped. But there was way too many of them for the archers to drive them back, and when a wailing, high-pitched horn sounded, the mass of little breeds howled and sprinted toward the thin elven line between us and them.

  “Did the king pack up his machines or something?”

  The capitaine shook his head. “No, he’s saving them for when the orc finally commits to the real attack.”

  “What about the warhawks?”

  “It would surprise me if Ulgor didn't have a shaman or two hidden in the goblin rear.”

  I nodded. Ulgor would happily trade an entire goblin wave for the chance to take out a warhawk, let alone an elf mage riding one. If a mage was close enough to rain fire and lightning down at the enemy, then he was close enough to have it thrown right back in his face. I knew from the pass how nasty those orc shamans and their devil magic could be. If I was the elf king, I wouldn't risk my sky riders just to kill a few goblins neither.

  A thought struck me. I looked around and saw no sign that the enemy was using the machines that had driven us down out of the pass.

  “He didn’t bring down his catapults?”

  “I’ve never heard that patience was a virtue among orcs. According to the elf king’s eyes in the sky, they left them on the other side of the mountain.”

  I nodded. That was a break. But still I couldn’t understand why the capitaine was leaving the men at their ease in the middle of the bloody battle.

  “Shouldn’t we at least form up, sir, in case they break through? This ain’t like the pass. The elves ain’t got no depth here.”

  “Just wait and see, Sergent. This assault is smaller than the previous two. It may even be the last. More likely, we’ll see one, maybe two more after this, then Ulgor will have to make up his mind about whether he’s going to throw the bones or not.”

  He sounded pretty confident, so I shrugged and turned back to watch the battle.

  The gobbos had almost nothing in the way of armor. Most of them was bare-chested, and some wore nothing more than a wrap of filthy skins covering their todgers. They marched under banners that was as threadbare as their clothing. The front ranks was carrying what was supposed to be spears but was actually thin wooden poles shaved to a point. Not something you wanted up your arse or in your eye, mind you, but it wasn’t no Amorran steel neither. The ranks following was mostly carrying crude clubs, although a few was armed with small blades. The clubs was more dangerous, especially the studded ones. I knew from the battles in the pass that the metal in their knives would barely punch through leather, and it would shatter when striking an iron shield or breastplate.

  The gobbos c
ame up to about a man’s chin, although here and there was a brute nearly as tall as an elf. Behind them was their drivers: big, ugly orcs wearing black leather vests and wielding their whips with indiscriminate savagery. The breeds was ugly, with sharp, elongated features and yellow-green skin, but there was more fear than hate in their eyes. The gobbos didn’t want to be there no more than we did, and it was almost enough to make a man sorry for them—until he recalled that the green bastards would eat you up if given half a chance.

  The elves didn’t wait for the gobbos to close with them. They ain’t disciplined like men are. One of them just up and leaped at the goblin front line, jumping about three times farther than any man could, and stuck a sword through a gobbo’s chest on his left while beheading a second gobbo with his right-hand sword. The other elves followed his lead, keening and singing in that eerie way of theirs, happy as reavers in a convent. The center of the goblin line simply melted away before them as the shining elvenblades sent gouts of dark green flying high into the air to the music of the goblins’ frightened wails.

  But the elves was louder. “LEE-AH, LEE-AH, LEE-OH!” They repeated it over and over again, cheerfully, and it almost seemed as if they was timing the complex combinations with which they swung their light, but lethal swords to the melodious chant. LEE-AH, LEE-AH, LEE-LEE-LOH-LAH, LEE-LEE-LOH-LAH-LEE-LOH.”

  I looked at Capitaine Donnier.

  He nodded reflectively and rubbed his chin.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “That singing they do—is it connected to how they swing their swords?”

  “More or less. Look, you see Lord Ysfaliss there?”

  I did. Couldn’t hardly miss him, what with the height and the red armor. Or what he did next.

  My jaw dropped as I watched the elf lord effortlessly slash off the hand of one goblin swinging a club at him, then leap up, spin around, and behead two goblins and slash through the throat of a third before his feet touched the ground again. I heard men cry out in amazement, and I felt like I should be applauding. Never seen nothing like it, before or since.

  “He’s one of the few blade dancers in Merithaim,” the capitaine observed. “Not a lot of the forest folk go in for that sort of thing, it’s more common among the high elves. Anyhow, that chant is a corruption of what the dancers do. See how he goes two strokes, two strokes, four strokes, six, in time with it? It’s a beautiful art, but with a considerable amount of practical application.”

  “How do you know all this stuff, Capitaine?”

  The capitaine laughed. “By talking to them, Sergent. Have you no intellectual curiosity? There is more to life than your next drink or your next woman, you know.”

  “You sure about that?” I pointed to a second mass of approaching enemy. “Don’t the priests say we should eat, drink, and be merry before we die?”

  “As it happens, they teach the precise opposite, Sergent. But I take your point.”

  I frowned. I was pretty sure I remembered the words aright from the last time I heard a mass, and the priest was translating from the Script itself. It kind of struck a chord with me, made good soldier’s sense. But I wasn’t about to dispute the capitaine, since he reads a damned sight better than I do.

  An elf voice was calling out for the capitaine, and we turned around and saw a young elf who might have even been a she-elf running up to us.

  “Capitaine Donnier,” the elf said, a little breathlessly, “His Majesty the King presents his compliments to you and asks if you would relieve Lord Ysfaliss for the period of the next attack.”

  The capitaine bowed, almost as graceful as an elf. “Inform His Majesty that I am at his service, and it will be the very great pleasure of the Compagnie de Fleurance to accede to his most gracious request.”

  “I shall inform His Majesty at once, Capitaine.” To my surprise, the young elf half-returned the bow. “By your leave, Capitaine.”

  Me and Shady looked at each other. An elf, even a young one, bowing to the capitaine? Damn, but we was impressed. I always thought elves was too stiff-necked to think we was any better than gobbos.

  The capitaine noticed and shook his head. “What are you two looking at? Hell, Shadow, if you’d just gotten the job done right and fried those bloody boars, the king might have made me an elf prince by now.” He winked at me and turned toward the others. “All right, gentlemen, let’s get to it. You know the drill. Two ranks and a reserve of twenty. Jacques in the center and the reserve with me. Shadow, extricate the reserve from the others and get them back here. Sergent, Baldo, get your boys in place. You've got the flanks.”

  Baldo Bigarse and me split up. He took the right flank and I took the left, as usual. The Company roster was two hundred six when we started, and now we was down to one sixty five taking the field today, with thirty-one either sick, wounded, or injured back in camp. We lost ten dead in the pass and looked to lose at least six more of the worse hurt. Everyone was hoping that Ulgor would give up and head back home before we put more names on the butcher’s bill.

  “All right, men, time to earn your pay!” I shouted.

  Once we was in formation, which didn’t take long, the capitaine addressed us. “Looks like we won’t be needing the pigstickers yet. If the orc sends in his cavalry, the reserve will get them to you before the pigs show up for you to stick them. You’ve fought these gobbos before. You’re going to beat them. But don’t get cocky!”

  “Lee-ah, lee-ha, lee-ah,” someone shouted. I couldn’t see who it was, but it sounded like Jérôme. I couldn’t help laughing. So did the rest of the men.

  Even the capitaine cracked a grin, but he shook his head.

  “None of that elven shit. I see any of you bastards playing the fool out there, and I’ll bust your liquor ration for a month, right? Dancing’s for the bordello, not the bloody battlefield! Keep your shields up and watch your neighbor’s flank. When the horn sounds, we'll kill some gobbos so we can get paid and go home.”

  The men cheered without needing any prompting. They didn’t get the capitaine no more than I did, but they trusted him, and I think they was a little giddy about not facing the boars yet.

  “Sergent?” One-Eyed Jacques came over from the center with one of the recruits, a big, fair-haired lad named Denisot, in tow. “You need to, like, bless him, Sarge.”

  “What?”

  “I ain’t done my confession, Sarge!” The poor kid was terrified, almost in tears. “I don’t wanna die with my soul all black with sin, Sarge. I don’t wanna go to Hell! My maman and my sissy went to Heaven, and I gotta go there if I’m ever gonna see ’em again! The caporal said sergents was like priests, or as good as, so you gotta confess me before I gets killed!”

  Futter me with a bishop’s bloody staff. Like I said, I ain’t the most religious man that ever walked the earth, them vows last night notwithstanding, but I was pretty sure God didn’t like folks pretending to be a priest when they ain’t. That was blasphemy, or something like.

  “One-Eye said that, did he?” I glared at the caporal. “Whatever you did, it can’t be so bad, Denisot. You ain’t even twenty! You hardly had time to do no sinning.”

  “Sarge, please, you gotta confess me!”

  One-Eye, standing behind him, gestured at me to hurry up. The third wave of goblins was starting to fall back from the elves, making room for their reinforcements to take their place on the lines and leaving scores of their dead behind them.

  “All right,” I relented. “One-Eye ain’t wrong. Sergents is like priests, in a way. That’s why you got to follow my orders.”

  I glanced up nervously at the sky once or twice as the boy, down on his knees in front of me, confessed to a collection of evil deeds that would just about amount to a slow morning for Bigarse or the Bastard. But lightning didn’t strike me dead just yet, not even when I put my hand on his head like I seen the priests do and told him everything was good betwixt him and God.

  “Innominay patree immacolatay feeleo spiritay,” I told him, and dam
ned if I didn’t feel something make my hand jump, like some magic went out of my hand and into his head. Only he didn’t seem to notice it. I stared at my hand for a second then shook my head. Must have imagined it. “Okay, you’re all confessed and clean, lad. Now go forth and kill some gobbos.”

  “Thanks, Sarge!” The lad was smiling, the near-tears in his eyes was gone. He walked back to take his position with damn near a spring in his step. If there was anyone on that field ready to face death today, it was that young man. I grinned at One-Eye.

  “You got anything you need to confess, caporal?”

  “Yeah, I futtered your maman.” He shook his head. “Thanks, Sarge. The lad needed it.”

  “I know. Stay safe, Jacques.”

  “You too, Sarge.” He saluted and left to rejoin his men.

  The men wasn’t inclined to let me forget it, of course. I heard a non-stop stream of questions and ribald comments behind me as we waited for the goblins to approach.

  “Hey, Sarge, you do weddings too?”

  “Hey, Sarge, if they make you Sanctiff, do that make us celestials?”

  “Sarge, why ain’t you wearing one of them funny white hats?”

  I let them talk. It didn’t harm no one, and troops that talk are troops thinking they’re going to win. It’s when they get all quiet that you start to wonder if they’re going to break and run on you.

  I stepped back into the ranks as the Silverbows went into their pincushion routine on the oncoming gobbos again, shooting over our heads this time, since we was now the front line. It seemed like they wasn’t firing quite as quickly, maybe because we wasn’t their kin or maybe they was just starting to run short on arrows and wanted to save some for the boar riders. Either way, they took out a good thirty or so, and that was thirty that wouldn’t bother us no more. I estimated the goblins was about two thousand in this wave, five hundred of which was coming for our part of the line. Less than four-to-one, which wouldn’t be a problem so long as the lads stood strong.

  Unlike the elves had done, we waited for them to come to us. They charged at us, their sharpened wooden poles aimed at our midsections, and they screamed like banshees. But the lads wasn’t intimidated—even the greenest among us had seen it before in the pass.