Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [102]
“Red flag, look,” said Cohen, waving the rather damp object on the end of his sword.
“Yes,” said Lord Hong. “We saw that little show. It may impress the common soldiers but it does not impress me, barbarian.”
“Please yourself,” said Cohen. “We’ve come to talk about surrender.”
Mr. Saveloy noticed some of the lesser lords relax a little. Then he thought: a real soldier probably doesn’t like this sort of thing. You don’t want to go to soldier Heaven or wherever you go and say, I once led an army against seven old men. It wasn’t medal-winning material.
“Ah. Of course. So much for bravado,” said Lord Hong. “Then lay down your arms and you will be escorted back to the palace.”
Cohen and Truckle looked at one another.
“Sorry?” said Cohen.
“Lay down your arms.” Lord Hong snorted. “That means put down your weapons.”
Cohen gave him a puzzled look. “Why should we put down our weapons?”
“Are we not talking about your surrender?”
“Our surrender?”
Mr. Saveloy’s mouth opened in a mad, slow grin.
Lord Hong stared at Cohen.
“Hah! You can hardly expect me to believe that you have come to ask us…”
He leaned from the saddle and glared at them.
“You do, don’t you?” he said. “You mindless little barbarians. Is it true that you can only count up to five?”
“We just thought that it might save people getting hurt,” said Cohen.
“You thought it would save you getting hurt,” said the warlord.
“I daresay a few of yours might get hurt, too.”
“They’re peasants,” said the warlord.
“Oh, yes. I was forgetting that,” said Cohen. “And you’re their chief, right? It’s like your game of chess, right?”
“I am their lord,” said Lord Hong. “They will die at my bidding, if necessary.”
Cohen gave him a big, dangerous grin.
“When do we start?” he said.
“Return to your…band,” said Lord Hong. “And then I think we shall start…shortly.”
He glared at Truckle, who was unfolding his bit of paper. The barbarian’s lips moved awkwardly and he ran a horny finger across the page.
“Misbegotten…wretch, so you are,” he said.
“My word,” said Mr. Saveloy, who’d created the look-up table.
As the three returned to the Horde Mr. Saveloy was aware of a grinding sound. Cohen was wearing several carats off his teeth.
“‘Die at my bidding’,” he said. “The bugger doesn’t even know what a chief is meant to be, the bastard! Him and his horse!”
Mr. Saveloy looked around. There seemed to be some arguing among the warlords.
“You know,” he said, “they probably will try to take us alive. I used to have a headmaster like him. He liked to make people’s lives a misery.”
“You mean they’ll be trying not to kill us?” said Truckle.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean we have to try not to kill them?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Sounds okay to me.”
“What do we do now?” said Mr. Saveloy. “Do we do a battle chant or something?”
“We just wait,” said Cohen.
“There’s a lot of waiting in warfare,” said Boy Willie.
“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Saveloy. “I’ve heard people say that. They say there’s long periods of boredom followed by short periods of excitement.”
“Not really,” said Cohen. “It’s more like short periods of waiting followed by long periods of being dead.”
“Blast.”
The fields were crisscrossed with drainage ditches. There seemed to be no straight path anywhere. And the ditches were too wide to jump; they looked shallow enough to wade, but only because eighteen inches of water overlay a suffocating depth of rich thick mud. Mr. Saveloy said that the Empire owed its prosperity to the mud of the plains, and right now Rincewind was feeling extremely rich.
He was also quite close to the big hill that dominated the city. It really was rounded, with a precision apparently far too accurate for mere natural causes; Saveloy had said that hills like that were drumlins, great piles of topsoil left behind by glaciers. Trees covered the lower slopes of this one, and there was a small building on the top.
Cover. Now, that was a good word. It was a big plain and the armies weren’t too far away. The hill looked curiously peaceful, as if it