The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [85]
“Well, truly, Your Highness,” Caradoc said. “Reminded me of a fight in a crowded tavern. That’s why you generally go outside if you’re in the mood, like, for a brawl.”
“Just so. I’ve never fielded this many men.”
“Neither has Burcan.”
The prince nodded. Long after the lords and their men both had gone to their blankets, Caradoc and Maryn were sitting at the dying council fire. Yawning on the edge of sleep, Nevyn sat with them. He’d been on his feet since the first of the wounded began coming in, those who could stay on a horse long enough to reach the camp, until but a few moments past, when he’d given up hope for the last of the dying.
“Interesting little problem,” Caradoc went on. “I remember our first summer in Cerrmor. We would have given an arm apiece for more men. We only fought the battles we couldn’t get out of fighting, and you won those by being fast and clever. Now we’ve got the men—”
“And we’re as slow as toads on cold stone, truly,” Maryn said. “Nevyn, what do you think?”
“Imph?” Nevyn shook himself awake. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Nah nah nah, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. You’re exhausted. Get some sleep.”
“I will, my thanks. Humph. I must be getting old.”
It seemed that Regent Burcan was considering tactics as well. For two days the Boarsmen retreated north and the Red Wyvern followed. The closer they drew to the Holy City, the more the land rose, until by the third day they reached the South Downs, where the land swelled like waves far out to sea. When scouts rode out, they could see a long way ahead. They returned on the evening of that third day to report that Burcan’s army had ensconced itself on a low rise some five miles north, blocking the road again but this time from high ground.
It was not good news. The prince called for a council of war at his fire that night, and after the noble-born had wrangled among themselves for a while, Maryn turned as usual to Caradoc.
“Clever of them,” Caradoc remarked. “We’ll have a lovely little fight of it, trying to charge uphill.”
“Just so,” Maryn said. “If we ride, they’ll kill our horses as fast as we crest the ridge.”
“Fight unhorsed, my liege?” Tieryn Gauryc snarled. “Surely you don’t suggest that?”
Most of the noble-born jumped to their feet and began muttering. Maryn got up and shouted.
“Hear me out!”
The lords fell silent. Nevyn noticed Tieryn Peddyc soothing Daeryc with a friendly hand on his overlord’s arm.
“If we try to fight on foot,” Maryn went on, “they’ll only ride us down. I know that as well as you do. So what do you suggest, my lords? With this big an army, we can’t simply outflank them and ride around their position.”
The lords considered. No one spoke.
“With the river to one side of us,” Maryn said, “we can’t split our force and encircle them, either. Burcan’s picked a nice spot for a fight.”
“Imph, well,” Tieryn Peddyc said. “If we only had some way to drive them off that hill.…”
“Good idea, my lord,” Caradoc said.
Nevyn suddenly realized that the captain was looking straight at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered for an answer; he wanted no direct part in the fighting. As if Caradoc could read his thoughts, he smiled and strolled over.
“Let’s have a chat, you and me,” Caradoc said. “Away from the wrangling, like.”
Caradoc slipped an arm through Nevyn’s and firmly guided him into the darkened camp, well out of earshot of the noble-born. With a scowl Nevyn pulled his arm free.
“Cursed if I’ll take any part in a battle!” Nevyn snarled. “May I ask just what you think I could do?”
“Well, when we were bringing the prince to Cerrmor, like,” Caradoc said. “There was a little matter of a battle, the one where Aethan died. And if I remember rightly, all at once the enemy horses started panicking, didn’t they? Like they could see somewhat that we men couldn’t.”
Nevyn growled under his breath.
“I see I remember rightly,” Caradoc said, grinning. “Well, my lord, couldn’t you do the same again?”
“Burcan