Read Online Rally Cry by William R. Forstchen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William R. Forstchen
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best stupid grin.
"Da, da, yes, friend, bluecoats and Rus, good. Kal talk peace for Rus, for bluecoats."
"Well then, let's get started," Andrew announced, and standing up he beckoned for Kal to follow.
"Kal, take this," Emil said, extending his hand.
Kal took the strange object which he had seen on the faces of Cane, Emil, and a number of other bluecoats.
"For Ivor," Emil said.
"He called the man Weak Eyes," Emil said, looking over at Andrew. "I've got a couple of extra pairs of glasses. Most likely nothing near what the man needs, but it might sway him a bit."
Emil took the glasses from Kal's hands and showed him how to put them on. Kal gasped with amazement, peering around curiously, and then took them off.
"Make Ivor's eyes better," Emil said. "Gift from Cane and me."
The peasant looked at the glasses in awe and nodded.
Stepping out into the reddish light of the noonday sun,the three walked toward the battlement walls. Three days had made the position impregnable, Kal could easily see that. The triangular fort was ringed by an earthen wall, as high as a man could reach, with an eight-foot-deep ditch in front. Even now the men were still working, building platforms for the monstrous metal tubes, one for each corner, and the fourth now mounted on an earthen mound in the center of the camp. Even if these men did not have the smoke killers, they'd be near impossible to destroy, Kal thought, looking about the encampment.
For above even their weapons Kal could not help but notice how the boyar Cane so easily controlled his men. There was something strange here. Cane would chat with even the youngest, tike Vincent, who behaved as if he were a noble. But with merely a soft-spoken word from Cane, all would rush to form their strange lines, standing as straight as their metal tubes.
Another word spoken and five hundred knives would flash out and be attached to the tubes. Another word and all the tubes would be pointed a certain way. Here was a strange power, Kal realized, but a power that strangely did not come from the lash, as he had always assumed power must.
This was not as the world should be. Peasants are to be driven by the lash and fear. Nobles defer to the boyar, but among themselves fight and brawl for prestige and position. And the priests—there were no priests here. No gold robes that all but the boyar must bow to as they spoke the words of submission to Perm, his son Kesus, and the sacrifice of the Tugars.
Still pondering these questions, Kal struggled up to the top of the parapet, Keane at his side.
"Kal."
Kal turned to look back to the colonel.
In Andrew's hand was a small metal flask, which he offered to the peasant.
"Boyar Ivor?" Kal asked.
"Nyet. For Kal," Andrew said, smiling.
Cheerfully the peasant took the flask, and with a wink tucked it into his tunic. With a sweeping gesture, he bent over, his right hand touching the ground. Straightening back up, he slid down the embankment and started back to the Suzdalian camp.
He looked back once more to the one armed boyar in the blue coat. He could not help but like the man.
"Father, the guards report that Kalencka has just come through the south gate. Mikhail has come back with him as well."
Ivor stood up, and tossing a half-eaten pheasant aside he wiped his greasy hands on the front of his tunic.
"It's about time that idiot showed up," and he slapped his son on the shoulder.
"Andrei, that peasant better have their secrets, and some sort of an agreement," Ivor growled.
"Perhaps they could be of some service after all," Andrei ventured.
"If we know their magic, why keep them?"
Ivor didn't venture anything beyond that, even to his son. The threat of the church was only all too real. The church was supposedly neutral in the eternal bickerings between the dozen kingdoms of Rus. Already he was starting to regret his confrontation of the other night. Push the patriarch Rasnar too far and the church might weigh in on the side of his rivals,
"Da, da, yes, friend, bluecoats and Rus, good. Kal talk peace for Rus, for bluecoats."
"Well then, let's get started," Andrew announced, and standing up he beckoned for Kal to follow.
"Kal, take this," Emil said, extending his hand.
Kal took the strange object which he had seen on the faces of Cane, Emil, and a number of other bluecoats.
"For Ivor," Emil said.
"He called the man Weak Eyes," Emil said, looking over at Andrew. "I've got a couple of extra pairs of glasses. Most likely nothing near what the man needs, but it might sway him a bit."
Emil took the glasses from Kal's hands and showed him how to put them on. Kal gasped with amazement, peering around curiously, and then took them off.
"Make Ivor's eyes better," Emil said. "Gift from Cane and me."
The peasant looked at the glasses in awe and nodded.
Stepping out into the reddish light of the noonday sun,the three walked toward the battlement walls. Three days had made the position impregnable, Kal could easily see that. The triangular fort was ringed by an earthen wall, as high as a man could reach, with an eight-foot-deep ditch in front. Even now the men were still working, building platforms for the monstrous metal tubes, one for each corner, and the fourth now mounted on an earthen mound in the center of the camp. Even if these men did not have the smoke killers, they'd be near impossible to destroy, Kal thought, looking about the encampment.
For above even their weapons Kal could not help but notice how the boyar Cane so easily controlled his men. There was something strange here. Cane would chat with even the youngest, tike Vincent, who behaved as if he were a noble. But with merely a soft-spoken word from Cane, all would rush to form their strange lines, standing as straight as their metal tubes.
Another word spoken and five hundred knives would flash out and be attached to the tubes. Another word and all the tubes would be pointed a certain way. Here was a strange power, Kal realized, but a power that strangely did not come from the lash, as he had always assumed power must.
This was not as the world should be. Peasants are to be driven by the lash and fear. Nobles defer to the boyar, but among themselves fight and brawl for prestige and position. And the priests—there were no priests here. No gold robes that all but the boyar must bow to as they spoke the words of submission to Perm, his son Kesus, and the sacrifice of the Tugars.
Still pondering these questions, Kal struggled up to the top of the parapet, Keane at his side.
"Kal."
Kal turned to look back to the colonel.
In Andrew's hand was a small metal flask, which he offered to the peasant.
"Boyar Ivor?" Kal asked.
"Nyet. For Kal," Andrew said, smiling.
Cheerfully the peasant took the flask, and with a wink tucked it into his tunic. With a sweeping gesture, he bent over, his right hand touching the ground. Straightening back up, he slid down the embankment and started back to the Suzdalian camp.
He looked back once more to the one armed boyar in the blue coat. He could not help but like the man.
"Father, the guards report that Kalencka has just come through the south gate. Mikhail has come back with him as well."
Ivor stood up, and tossing a half-eaten pheasant aside he wiped his greasy hands on the front of his tunic.
"It's about time that idiot showed up," and he slapped his son on the shoulder.
"Andrei, that peasant better have their secrets, and some sort of an agreement," Ivor growled.
"Perhaps they could be of some service after all," Andrei ventured.
"If we know their magic, why keep them?"
Ivor didn't venture anything beyond that, even to his son. The threat of the church was only all too real. The church was supposedly neutral in the eternal bickerings between the dozen kingdoms of Rus. Already he was starting to regret his confrontation of the other night. Push the patriarch Rasnar too far and the church might weigh in on the side of his rivals,
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