Guns of the Dawn (52 page)

Damn me, there can’t be more than a squad of them out there!

A few more guns were now firing from the Lascanne emplacements, and more being brought up, but the colonel was bellowing to every soldier within earshot, ‘Attack, you cowards! Get up and
drive them off. Don’t just lie there getting shot at, you fools!’ He had found a sabre from somewhere and whirled it about his head, before directing it at the darkness.
‘That’s an order!’ he bellowed. ‘Attack, damn you!’

‘Sir!’ Emily shouted at him, but he had already taken a half-dozen steps out towards the enemy, obviously in the belief that he was being followed. The shot that took him ripped into
his groin and he somersaulted forward and fell onto his side, where a second bullet passed through his chest with a little spurt of blood and fragments of his shirt. She heard him cry out,
‘Oh God! Oh God! I’m shot!’ and then he choked and, even across the ground between them, she heard his wretched, racking whimpers.

The firing had stopped. No more came from the darkness. All the defending soldiers were now behind cover, and the end of the Denland shooting meant the Lascanne gunners were also deprived of
their targets. In the matter of a few seconds the only sound was the cries of the wounded, amidst them the colonel’s wheezing, trembling voice as he curled round his wound.

‘Someone go and get him, for heaven’s sake,’ Doctor Carling’s wife said. ‘Someone go pull him back.’

Nobody was volunteering, though. The colonel cried out as he tried to move, clawing at the earth. He was out there in full view of any Denlander sniper, under the guns of the enemy.

It does not have to be me. I’m damned if it’s me again that takes the risk.
The thoughts came too late. She was already ducking out from behind the tent and scurrying
towards the wounded officer at a crouch. She heard Caxton call after her, and then a voice call, ‘Emily, don’t go!’ In the moments before the anticipated bullet a bizarre spark of
happiness kindled within her, because Giles must still be alive to worry about her.

And then she was on the ground beside the colonel, still miraculously not hit. He forced himself to look up at her, and she tried to get her arms underneath him to haul him away. Every wrenching
movement forced another scream from him, the firelight catching a mist of blood from his lips. She paused, waiting; waiting for the final shot.

‘Sir . . .’

‘Marshwic . . .’ he got out. ‘Don’t want to . . . leave . . .’

‘Sir, I’ve got to—’

‘Good stock, the Marshwics . . .’ He reached out, clawing at her shoulder. ‘Help . . . Carry me . . .’

‘I’m trying, sir . . .’

‘God!’

He dragged her to the ground, fingers biting savagely into her shoulder. For a moment she was face to face with his tormented, bloody features.

He was dead.

She hunched over the body. Now that she was here, she did not want to head back in case she tempted the enemy guns still further. It was only after a long count of a hundred that she finally
realized that the Denlanders must have fled back into the swamps.

They had lost only four soldiers, she discovered, with several others wounded. She guessed the Denlanders had been firing at some considerable range in poor light.

And, of course, they had lost Justin Lascari and the colonel.

Brocky came out to help her retrieve the colonel’s body and, that done, she watched as the soldiers tried to restore order to their camp, re-erecting tents and helping carry the wounded
away.

‘What a bloody mess,’ the quartermaster remarked. ‘What are we going to do now?’

‘Keep better watch,’ she replied shortly.

‘Emily.’ She turned to see a white-shirted figure getting up from the ground, where he had been lying since Lascari’s last vicious attack.

‘Giles! My God, how are you?’

The face that he turned to her was pink and shiny with burn tissue. Across his front his shirt was charred to ash and one arm was ridged skewbald with blistered skin.

‘Oh, Giles . . .’ She felt herself recoil as he held out his burnt hand, and hated herself for it. ‘Oh, God, no . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ he said, against all the evidence. ‘Don’t fear for me.’

‘But . . . you’re . . .’
You’re ruined
, was what she nearly said.

‘There is only one burn that ever lasts, on a wizard’s hide,’ he replied lightly. ‘Give me two days, and I shall have shed this like a snake loses his skin. So long as I
live, I cannot stay burnt for long.’

She looked to Brocky for confirmation, and the big man nodded. ‘Won ten pounds off me when he first arrived. Extinguished my pipe with his little finger, bloody fool. All true,
though.’

‘I’ve been shot,’ said Scavian, in mild surprise. She turned to see him fingering a hole in one sleeve. He rolled his shirt up to the shoulder to reveal a shallow graze across
one shoulder. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Call that being shot?’ Brocky scoffed. ‘You want me to show you what shot is, Scavian, old lad?’ He began tugging his shirt out of his trousers until Emily stopped him
with a gesture.

‘So what happens now?’ she asked.

*

Tubal looked so unchanged, sitting there at the table in the Survivors’ Club clubhouse. She could barely believe he had one foot less beneath it. It was late, gone
midnight and long past, but there they all were: the entire Club plus Marie Angelline. Nobody in the Lascanne camp was sleeping much tonight.

‘Scouts,’ Brocky decided. ‘Opportunistic buggers, but just a squad of scouts.’

‘Hell, they’ve probably been studying us for nights now,’ Tubal agreed.

Mallen was shaking his head. ‘Assassins,’ he said, ‘sent to take out the top men. You and Lascari.’ He pointed to Scavian. ‘If you hadn’t already been on the
ground, you’d be dead now, I wager. The colonel, he was shouting orders, made himself a target. Makes sense, if you’ve got their guns.’

‘Then they’ll be back,’ Emily said, ‘with more snipers.’

‘Maybe.’ Mallen drained his glass. ‘Or maybe not. How long’ll it take, getting a new commander appointed? They don’t know. If I were them . . . attack in strength
now. While we’re down.’

‘Now?’ Brocky’s voice was suddenly hoarse.

‘Tomorrow, day after. Soon as they can get the men together.’ Mallen shrugged.

‘That will be soon,’ Emily said, and Marie Angelline nodded emphatically.

‘One thing they are, they’re organized,’ she said. ‘We have to get some defences up.’

‘Command meeting first thing tomorrow,’ Tubal decided. ‘Whoever’s left of us, anyway. You’ll tell Huill Pordevere, Angelline?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘No “sirs” round this table,’ Brocky reminded her.

‘Yes, Salander, then.’

‘Emily, you go get Mallarkey soon as the sun’s up. We’ll need all the time we can scrounge.’

‘It’s . . . a strange thing,’ began Scavian softly. His burn-shiny skin was already peeling back from his face in ragged strips, revealing his familiar features underneath as
though he were just an actor removing his disguise. ‘To have a man try to shoot you – to shoot
you
, specifically.’

‘But Scavian, you’re a Warlock. They’ve been trying to kill you ever since you got here,’ Brocky reminded him.

‘I know but . . . in battle it’s less personal. After all, I’m trying to kill them as well. There’s a . . . a what?’

‘A mutual understanding,’ Emily provided for him.

‘Exactly so. But, in truth, it makes one fear that one is . . . marked now.’ He lapsed into silence. ‘I am the last of the King’s wizards here at the Levant. As there
have been none to arrive in half a year now, to join me, it seems that none are ever to come. No doubt the King sends them to the Couchant, seeing there his best chance at achieving
victory.’

‘You can’t mourn for Lascari,’ Emily protested.

‘I mourn for the man he should have been.’ He stood up from the table, wandering over to the window to look out at the night.

‘There is grey over the sea, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, after a moment’s sad reflection. ‘I fear the dawn has crept up on us as we talked. An hour off, at
most.’

‘And tomorrow – today! Today they’ll come for us,’ Brocky predicted.

‘Or the next day,’ Mallen corrected him with equanimity. ‘We knew this day would arrive. We all knew.’

And out there, in the dark behind the treeline, the Denlanders massed and readied their magic guns for the onslaught: this day, or the next . . .

Tubal had not yet mastered the business of walking on crutches. He made a heavy labour of the brief journey between the Stag Rampant headquarters – alias the
Survivors’ Club – and the central hut that had once housed the colonel.

Stapewood met him at the door, his eyes red and his face puffy. ‘Captain,’ he said to Tubal, and, ‘Lieutenant,’ to Emily, then he opened the door for them formally, like
a steward.

Emily helped Tubal up the few steps and got him ensconced at the great table. No map this time, for the battleground was known to all concerned.

‘I don’t think I could bear the walk back if nobody else comes,’ he said, ashen and sweating.

‘They’ll come.’

‘Will they? I’m a prole and an upstart, Em. My grandfather wasn’t even born in this country. Mallarkey’s of decent family, and Pordevere’s actually a Knight of the
King’s Court. Who am I to be summoning them here and there? They’ll ignore me. They’ll be over in Pordevere’s hut, talking about hunting and shooting.’

‘They’ll come,’ she insisted. ‘Mallarkey’s scared to death; you know him. He wants someone else to take command. And Pordevere wants command, of course, and he
can’t very well have it while hiding in his hut. They’ll be here.’

Sure enough there were footsteps outside, and Stapewood opened the door for Captain Sir Huillam Pordevere, with Marie Angelline following in his wake.

‘Salander,’ he said, taking a seat at the table. There was no sign of condescension there, just the will to get down to business. ‘Mallarkey’s close behind me.
Let’s get everything done double time, shall we?’

‘Absolutely,’ Tubal agreed, biting off the ‘sir’ that almost edged in after the word. Mallarkey did indeed arrive just then, with Lieutenant Gallien come to second
him.

They gathered around the bare table and an awkward pause extended, before Stapewood filled some glasses and miserably passed them round.

‘Well, then,’ Pordevere said. ‘What the devil comes next?’

‘I’ve sent a messenger to Locke to let them know what’s happened,’ Tubal explained. ‘I assume that we’ll be sent a new commander as soon as the war effort
permits.’

‘Or a promotion for one of us,’ Pordevere said – meaning ‘
me.
‘Until then, I think I can safely claim seniority and put myself in temporary
command.’

Tubal exchanged glances with Emily. With Tubal a mere tradesman with a purchased commission, it was Pordevere or Mallarkey, and neither were ideal custodians for the collective lives of the
Levant army.

Mallarkey was obviously not going to raise an objection, though, and so Tubal nodded tiredly.

‘What are your thoughts then, sir?’ he asked.

Pordevere grinned his infectious grin. ‘Glad you asked me, Salander. As it happened, I rather had the idea of an attack: drive them back into the swamps, keep them away from the border
here.’

Tubal closed his eyes briefly, no doubt seeing in his mind the expanse of open ground between the camp and the treeline, and thinking what five squads of Denland sharpshooters could do to any
number of red-coated men advancing against them.

‘I had a word with your man, the scout, before I came here,’ Pordevere said.

‘Master Sergeant Mallen.’

‘Right. I had him go with a few of his lads to see what the situation was.’ Pordevere’s grin slipped a little.

‘And?’ Mallarkey said, alarmed.

‘Four of them went out, and got into the trees unseen, but they couldn’t get more than ten yards further in. The place is crawling with Denlander soldiers, apparently. More of them
are turning up all the time.’

‘Oh, my God,’ whispered Mallarkey.

‘An attack,’ declared Tubal. ‘They’re going to bring the fight to us.’

‘It has to be,’ Pordevere agreed. ‘And your man Mallen says they’re not to be taken napping, either. They’ve got guns pointed at us and ready.’ He bared his
teeth in frustration. ‘I want to take eight squads of good men in, and clear them out, gentlemen, but, as God is my witness, even I can’t see a way to it.’

Tubal blinked at him, although Mallarkey only looked relieved.

‘So I’ve found the next best thing,’ Pordevere said. ‘They’re going to make their move on us; that much is for certain. We need to fend them off when they arrive,
drive them back. Then we’ll attack. While they’re falling back in a rout, we’ll drive straight into them, scatter them and push them into the trees while they’re still
disordered. They won’t have a chance to form up, and we’ll have them. Sound like a plan, gentlemen?’

Tubal and Emily exchanged another yet glance. Emily shook her head slightly, remembering the exquisite discipline of the Denlanders. Any such pursuers would be running into covering fire from
both sides.

‘We can’t just let ourselves be picked apart, bit by bit each night,’ Pordevere said, challenging anyone to speak against him.