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holding up his left hand, he waved to the crowd, which roared with approval,
calling his name.
The men of the 35th and 44th were drawn up in column of fours.
Andrew quickly scanned the line. How thin it now was. Over half of them gone,
the remaining veterans looking battle-worn but proud.
Andrew drew up alongside the regiment, his pride in them near overflowing.
Turning to the two flags, he snapped a salute, and then, looking back to the
regiment, he saluted them as well, and their cheers joined in with the crowd.
Coming to the front of the column, he saw Hans mounted off to one side, his
corps flag and the four division standards of the Suzdalian army snapping
behind him.
"Well, Hans, do you wish to ride in this one as a general or as a sergeant
major?"
"I think, son, I'll take the sergeant major position for today."
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He brought his mount over to Andrew's side, and they waited until Emil came up
on horseback to join them, with Kal's litter and Casmar on foot leading the
way.
The column started off toward the eastern gate. The road to either side was
lined with thinned regiments of the Suzdalian and Novrodian troops.
"God, how many we lost," Andrew said quietly, scanning their ranks.
As he passed each regiment he saluted their colors, and the men stood rigid
and proud.
Coming past the 5th Suzdal, he saw Dimitri standing beneath a flame-scorched
regimental standard, a knot of less than a hundred men gathered about the
flag. The flag snapped in the breeze, and emblazoned in English across its
side he saw two words:
"Hawthorne's Guards."
Andrew reined in and saluted the flag, the Suzdalian major looking up at him
proudly, with tears in his eyes.
"We've molded an army here," Andrew said evenly, continuing down the road.
"As good as the Army of the Potomac," Hans replied sharply.
On down to the gate they rode, passing O'Donald's batteries. The major was
waiting for them and swung his mount out to join the line.
Behind them the men of the 35th started to sing, the regiments of Rus picking
up the words and singing in their language.
"Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys . . ."
The detachment rode out through the eastern gate.
Before him the harsh reality of war came rushing back. Wreckage was
everywhere. Thousands of bodies still carpeted the field. Looking north, he
saw where the flood had reached its maximum height, a wall of flotsam piled
ten feet high in some places, the shattered remnants of the
Bangor slammed up vertical against the wall.
O'Donald had told him about that. If he could give Congressional medals he
knew where he would pin one of the first.
"The only thing as terrible as a battle lost," Andrew said softly, "is a
battle won."
Across the far hills he could see the tent wagons moving away, as if the
ground were covered with thousands of humpbacked creatures moving toward the
edge of the world.
"You released the prisoners?" Andrew asked, looking over at Hans.
"A lot of people wanted to kill 'em. It was a little touchy last night, but we
got them out of the city."
Then at least there was still some civility left. The war was over as far as
he was concerned; there was no sense in holding three thousand Tugars that
would have to be fed from the tight supplies still left. Some had argued for
keeping them as slave labor, but the force of his argument, and,, to his
pride, the shouted outcries from his regiment, had ended that argument in a
hurry.
Pushing forward, the group reached the edge of the battlements, and making
their way over the sally-port bridge, they stopped at last. For long minutes
they lingered, looking toward the vanishing host, while on the city walls
thousands stood cheering.
From out of a stretch of woods above the Tugar line a lone warrior appeared.
Taking up his field glasses, Andrew brought him into focus.
"Muzta," he said quietly.
Without comment, he spurred his mount forward into a canter.
Hans, Emil, and O'Donald galloped up to join him.
"Could be a final shot to get you," Hans said cautiously.
"I think not," Andrew replied.
Reaching the Tugar siege lines, he weaved his way through a sally port as
alone Muzta cantered down to meet him, a man trotting by his side.
"Wait for me," Andrew said, and despite their protest he moved ahead to where
Muzta had reined in his mount.
The Tugar looked down at him appraisingly and then nodded to the lone man he
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had brought along.
"My lord Muzta Qar Qarth wishes to speak to you," the man said in
Suzdalian.
"And who are you?" Andrew asked quietly.
"I was taken from here a circling ago. I have been the pet of Muzta as a
fashioner of gold."
Andrew looked up at Muzta and waited. Slowly the Tugar began to speak.
"My lord wishes to thank you for the release of the prisoners, though you most
likely did not realize that among them was his only surviving son."
Andrew looked questioningly at the interpreter.
"The other two died fighting against you," the interpreter added.
"We have both lost ones that we loved," Andrew replied evenly.
"He wishes to inform you that the Tugar horde leaves to go east and south.
Though his people and yours are still enemies."
"There was no need for this war," Andrew replied.
"For my people it was as unstoppable as the wind and the rain," Muzta replied.
"Perhaps now we shall starve, but that is my concern and no longer yours."
Andrew merely nodded in reply.
Muzta lowered his head and spoke softly.
"Some of my people now claim that all humans must die. Perhaps for the sake of
my race they are right. Perhaps we may still rule you, perhaps not, and maybe
it will be different, as a friend of mine once wished. I
need tribute from those whom we ride to. And yes, we might take of their flesh
as well."
"I think that might no longer be true," Andrew replied. "The Wanderers
undoubtedbly have spread the word before you. Your warriors are gone you can
no longer rule as you once did."
Muzta paused for a long moment and then nodded in reply.
"But perhaps we can barter something as we circle once again."
"And that is?"
"An end to the pox," Muzta replied. "You have a healer with you. If I left a
number of my healers here for several days, would he teach them his magic?
Then I would send them before the horde and offer this thing in exchange for
food."
"Emil, come up here."
The doctor came up to Andrew's side, and Andrew quickly explained what had
been asked.
Smiling, the old doctor nodded his agreement.
"Give me a couple of weeks and I'll teach them asepsis surgery, and how to
make anesthesia as well. God knows with all their wounded they're going to
need it. If that's all right with you, Andrew?"
Andrew nodded in reply, watching as the doctor explained what he would do to
help out, the translator speaking in turn to Muzta.
With a look of surprise, Muzta contemplated the two before him.
"What manner of men are you?" he whispered.
"Merely men who wish to be free and are willing to pay the price for it."
Muzta nodded gravely.
"I leave now. Perhaps we shall meet again when twenty seasons have passed.
Perhaps I shall hold my rule, and maybe remember and use the words of an old
friend who perished here. Perhaps I shall come armed, perhaps not. As I leave,
I will give you two gifts, in memory of that friend, who I know would wish it
such, and for the gift of my son you returned to me so freely, when it was
your right to slay him out of hand.
"Goodbye, human called Keane."
Muzta turned his mount about and then paused. He spoke quickly to the
translator and then galloped off, leaving the man, who stood in silence,
stunned by his freedom.
The Tugar commander paused at the top of the hill and beckoned. Two of his
warriors came out, and leaping from their mounts, untied the ropes around the
arms of two humans. Looking back, Muzta stood in his stirrups, and raising his
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